Reverberations
by Ornamental Nonsense
Summary: Claire, one of the infected, is starting a new job, but Wesker's shadow continues to fall over her. When his employers take an interest in her, she'll need to watch her back and prepare to fight. Sequel to Adaptation 3.
1. Chapter 1: Stuck in My Head

I am currently fixing the dates on the prequels to this so that Resistance starts 6 years after Raccoon City, meaning that this new story is going into the 7th year, where Claire gets involved with Terrasave. I hope that clears things up. Nothing else changed from the first three installments. This picks up right where they left off. I hope that you all enjoy this new update. It will fill in the gap between Claire's infection/time with Wesker and Africa.

ENJOY! And, as always, R&R

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Chapter 1: Stuck in My Head

It was mid-July and damn hot even for a summer's night. The stifling weather wrapped humid fingers around the city, suffocating it, and the light drizzle that had just begun did nothing to help. The misty air coated the world in a slippery sheen played on by red and green lights over the mostly deserted streets. Other apartments were blasting air conditioners while the occupants slumbered uncomfortably on sticky sheets, but apartment one-sixteen, Rosewood Place, was different. The lights were on, and the windows were thrown wide open, allowing the sound of rain to drift into the small living quarters where a young woman busily typed.

She was reading online news about a pharmaceutical company named WilPharma. The name had caught her eye some time ago, but she was indecisive as to how to handle her misgivings. Sure, she wanted to involve herself in saving lives, but under what affiliation was causing her consternation. There were numerous groups fighting against bioweapons and human testing, whether humanitarian organizations or government offices, and each had pros and cons. An action-orientated job would have been ideal, but the risk of exposing her abnormal abilities kept that option warily distant. One slip of control in combat and she'd be on the auction block.

A textbox suddenly popped up on the computer screen: _What r u doing up so late?_

Claire Redfield smiled pleasantly and checked the time. It was only one am, and she was anything but tired. She sat in shorts and a tank top with one foot folded against her chest on the chair. A half-eaten bowl of kimchi-flavored noodles sat beside the computer, and she picked at the leftovers with a fork. Leave it to Chris to be patrolling her personal habits.

"I'm not tired," she said aloud as she typed.

_Virus grl_. Claire laughed and was ever grateful that such a thing was possible concerning her condition.

"Keep it up. I'll kick your ass." Chris sent her a winking smiley face in response, and Claire thanked god for technology. Instant Messenger had been a real blessing since Chris had departed to train for his new job. Claire was sure that he would be amazing, for the passion and skill to fight terror had been imbedded in him since Raccoon City. She really missed his strong presence now that he was gone, but his work was more important than her.

_Did u get Clyde's info on the job_? Claire snorted and took a bite of noodles. Yes, she had, and the answer was still no. She wasn't interested in joining BSAA like Chris, and she was nervous about him having mentioned her to his friend, even if it was on an informal basis. Sometimes she wondered if Chris's appeals didn't stem from his desire to keep a closer eye on her wellbeing. After all, he knew that she'd get back in the game sooner than later.

"I'm not interested in the job," she said for the third time this month.

_He doesn't know anything about you_.

"Too risky." Claire had not told Chris about her infiltration of a government research facility, but she had mentioned fears concerning her secret's discovery. She'd sworn Chris to silence, and he'd complied but insisted that she'd find a way to keep it hidden. After all, she looked the same to him, and she was very good at keeping her abilities under wraps. _Yeah_, Claire thought, _but he hasn't seen my eyes change when I get emotional_. Plus, if the government ever did discover who she was and what she had done, it would result in disaster for Chris as well as her. To have his own sister a governmental target—that was stress that he didn't need, and Claire knew that the explanation as to why she had killed military employees would not be acceptable. A lack of details was the only reason that Chris had forgiven her for finding Wesker in the first place.

_U don't trust US govt._

"No." Claire had been trying to tell Chris about her misgivings concerning the government for months, but to no avail. How the hell was she going to tell him that they experimented on people like Umbrella did when her evidence dealt with attacking a laboratory alongside Wesker? She tried to think of an indirect way to get her point across. "Leon says they want samples for themselves. Maybe it's bad news."

_Maybe. No choice here_. Claire knew exactly what he meant. He, like her, was just trying to lend a hand where he could. For him the government offered a chance to do what his moral obligations and heart expected him to. Claire couldn't blame him for that anymore than her decision to care about Wesker. Things weren't black and white and never would be again. The best that they could do was stick with the side that they felt was the lesser of two evils.

_Look at NGOs. Maybe Terrasave._

"What?"

_Heard it mentioned here._ Claire opened a new internet tab and typed in the name. She wasn't going to sleep tonight so she might as well look it up now.

_Sis. Sleep._

"Can't."

_Nightmares again? What about?_ Claire grimaced. She couldn't tell him what they involved; he wouldn't understand.

"Don't worry. How's life?"

_Hell. They're tough on us_. Claire grinned and ate her remaining noodles. _Sleep_. She rolled her eyes.

"Work to do."

_Bullshit. I'd call, but you need to get a new cell phone_. Claire sighed. Yes, she needed to do that. The last one had never been returned after she gave it away. Chris assumed that she'd simply lost it. Oh well. _Ok. Promise to sleep soon_.

"Fine. Night."

_Bye_.

"Brothers," Claire joked to herself and returned to her internet search. Terrasave, huh? It looked promising, and it might be her niche. She'd look into it more later. For now she was waiting for a reply from Rebecca concerning certain files that she wished to obtain. She looked at the corner of the computer screen: one, ten am. Okay, so it wasn't likely that she'd get a reply until late morning, and maybe not at all. It had been five days since she'd sent the e-mail, and there was nothing to do but wait. That left the question of sleeping or finding something else to amuse herself.

Claire frowned and mindlessly walked into the kitchen to throw away her noodle bowl. She hadn't slept in almost a week, so it was no surprise that Chris was concerned, and she knew that she needed to rest if only to clear her mind. Claire meandered into the bathroom and began preparing a bath. She reached for the bubble bath and squeezed it into the running water. Her neighbors probably thought that she was a complete insomniac.

It wasn't her choice though. She would have gladly kept a normal sleeping routine like anyone else, but she periodically suffered from intense nightmares, and lately they had been reoccurring with increasing frequency. They weren't of Raccoon City either, as Chris had suggested in one of their conversations. No, she had lost those nightmares after spending months with Wesker. These were different, and far more troubling than Raccoon City had ever been.

Claire suddenly realized that she had emptied the entire bottle of bubble bath into the tub and was now facing a colossal mountain of foam. _Oops_. She tossed the bottle aside, undressed, and slipped into the water. Only her head stuck above the surface, but the normally soothing suds weren't hitting the spot tonight. She might not have been sleeping but the nightmares were still on her mind. She recalled the first time that she had experienced the dream…

_The key was cold in her hand as she turned it in the lock, and the wind swept loudly through the forest to tug at her black attire. On the threshold of this place, she was unsure of everything, but her hand reached out. She pushed the door open and stepped inside to find that someone had left the lights on upstairs. Her heart raced, thinking that he was here, and her feet briskly moved up the steps and toward the bedroom. She hadn't seen him in so long, and the place was filled with his tantalizing scent. _

_She was in the bedroom, and Wesker stood at the window, arms folded behind his back in thought. Claire slowly strode forward, unsure of his mood, and placed a hand on his shoulder. _

_"Wesker?" He made no response. He wouldn't even look at her, but Claire was desperate that he should do so. "Wesker…? Please. I'm here." He finally turned toward her and Claire saw that he was upset about something. He refrained from speaking and just stared at her with burning orbs that made Claire want to shrink into the ground. He lifted a hand to her face and ran his fingers gently over the skin, but the movement was mechanical rather than warm. He seemed unsure of something, and Claire tried to settle whatever it was by leaning into his touch._

_"Claire, get away from him!" Claire's attention shot to the door, where Chris was standing with a gun aimed at Wesker. She immediately moved to stand between them, but Wesker roughly shoved her aside and drew his own gun. Her heart pumped heavily and she watched in panic as Chris shot Wesker, the bullet jerking his chest backward. Instead of healing, Wesker lay on the floor, bleeding onto the carpet. Claire reached for him in slow motion, running her hands over his face and crying._

_"Claire, what are you doing?" Chris demanded. She couldn't answer. She just cried. "If he lives, he'll kill me." She couldn't help it. She held onto Wesker and told him that he'd be okay. "Fine, Claire. You've chosen your side," Chris angrily spat and left. Claire was left watching the man that she loved die while Chris scornfully abandoned her. Wesker's eyes continued to burn angrily and his lips barely opened. _

_"Claire…" _

She sat in the bathtub and tried to make sense of the dream. It didn't always happen like that. Sometimes Wesker shot Chris, and then she was left holding her dying brother while Wesker told her to make a decision, much like Chris had done; however, some matters remained constant; the dream always ended with one of them calling her name, and she could never save both. She'd wake up drenched in sweat, mentally tormented, and with raging amber eyes. She had never experienced such conflict or dread in a dream—never. Some nights she thought to alter the outcome, and she'd try to warn Wesker to leave ahead of time or send Chris back before he was killed, but it never worked. She jumped out of the bathtub in frustration and let the water drain. Sometimes she woke up crying.

"Damn, stupid dream," Claire complained under her breath as she returned to the living room. Maybe she could go for a walk. It wasn't like she was worried about being mugged or anything. The thought actually rather amused her—like thinking of someone trying to steal Wesker's wallet. Now _there_ was a hilarious image, but the humor quickly died as she felt a pang of sadness. Life had moved on and her with it, but that didn't mean that she felt less conflicted about the choices still open to her. One day she would meet Wesker again, and there would need to be a final decision whether she was ready for it or not. For now she had chosen, but it was partially a postponement of bringing herself into direct conflict with him. If she was as effective in fighting bioweapons as she aimed to be, conflict with his goals was inevitable. She had no idea under what conditions they would meet again, but she knew that she wouldn't be allowed to interfere without risking her life.

She flopped back down at the computer and began mindlessly surfing the web. She searched for nightmares on Google, but the links were lacking in substance. Try drinking chamomile tea, one suggested. More like an entire bottle of sleeping pills, Claire darkly thought.

She slid onto the couch and stared at the ceiling. She was feeling alone again, and that was all the more reason for doing something with herself. She wouldn't let herself waste away, and it was high time that she got herself back on the battlefield. That meant making a job decision soon. It would put her in contact with new people, possibly friends, and rekindle her purpose to stop biohazards. It was exactly what she needed.

_Right_, she decided and prepared to send a query to Terrasave. As she leaned forward to reach for the computer, a necklace dangled from her neck, grazing the desk's surface. Claire gently ran a finger over the key on the chain before tucking it back inside of her shirt. She wanted to go to the house, but she had her doubts. The bliss that she'd experienced from Wesker's offer had faded, even if it still warmed her considerably. The problem was what would happen if she did go. If he was there, would he take her presence as a signal of her decision to join him, and what if she fumbled over explaining her desertion? _And if he wouldn't be there…? _Then she'd be disappointed. Either way, going would probably make her want to stay with him, and that was dangerous for countless lives and her brother's sanity.

She checked the time: three am. It was time to resort to the last measure of entertainment. She strapped on her boots and shut the apartment door behind her as she descended to the streets. She'd see what she could find, and she had her trusty sunglasses tucked into her pocket just in case something triggered a reaction. The light rain dampened her clothing as she walked, a lone figure on a dreary street. The neighbors probably did think that she was an oddball.


	2. Chapter 2: Pack Your Bags

Chapter 2: Pack Your Bags

"I hate that man," Michael Lance muttered under his breath. The entire situation was preposterous. That damned Albert Wesker was walking all over the Agency with the arrogance of a chairman. He was a prominent figure, yes, but not a chairman. Michael was a chairman, and he wanted nothing more than to rip off Wesker's head and nail it to his door in bloody triumph. The man was absolutely maddening, and the other chairmen were giving him slack when they needed to rein him in. How could they let him continue his suspicious activities with that ambiguous S Corporation? It was nonsense, even if they reasoned that he was only one man and that they had their eyes on him.

That was a joke. Michael had seen Wesker's red eyes when they'd met years earlier, when Wesker had just joined them to target Umbrella. Now Umbrella was reviving, and Wesker's invisible hand could be seen in the job. Michael did not underestimate the man or whatever he was, and he knew better than to assume that the board had Wesker where they wanted him. The spies that they had set on him didn't even know where he was most of the time. It was like Wesker was some kind of phantom. Michael had only ever seen him that once, but he vowed that the next time he saw those red eyes they'd be attached to a corpse.

He sat in his large office with a woman standing behind him, massaging his shoulders. He needed it to ease his tension, for he hated being made a fool, and when Wesker so openly mocked him, it made his blood boil. He remembered the cold, expressionless face of the man and roughly dismissed the masseuse. He pressed a button on the underside of his desk. He was sick of waiting for his fellow chairman to do something about this problem. Whatever Wesker was up to, it had to be stopped.

A suited man stepped into the office and waited at attention to be addressed. His slicked-back, brown hair revealed a gentle, smooth, even angelically attractive face that belied his profession. His large, seemingly innocent green eyes would have been capable of fooling anyone, but the chairman knew that there was a switchblade up that black sleeve. Michael took his time lighting a cigar and languishing over a few brief puffs. It was the little things in this job that made it bearable.

"Any word, Herr Mauler?" he asked, and the man shook his had. "Keep your eyes open. You have your money, now show me some results. I want to know how to get at Albert Wesker. Dismissed." The man wordlessly left and Michael hoped for the best. There had to be some way to flush Wesker out of hiding, or at least gain information on him. He flipped open the plain folder on his desk and stared at the image before him. He took a long drag from the cigar and blew it over the photo of a young, redheaded woman. The report came from some underling who had seen Wesker before the break in at the government labs. Michael wouldn't forget Wesker's offensive response to the team that he had sent to aid the virus's recovery, but he wouldn't waste time on that now. His eyes refocused on the redhead.

That Wesker had been publicly seen with this mysterious woman on several occasions made her an item of interest, but no one knew anything about her, not even her name. Had he been so fortunate to have access to HCF's files, he would have been interested to see that her and her brother had been involved with Wesker on Rockfort, and Daniels's report gave her name, but he had no such knowledge. He had no way to locate her at the time, and she was only one short paragraph in a file of incoherent news relating to Wesker's activities and contacts. Ada Wong was a much more certain source of information, but she was missing for the time being.

He disdainfully closed the folder. If he could do anything to destroy Albert Wesker, he would not hesitate. He was losing patience with each passing day.

*****************

Claire was at the computer yet again. She had developed a love for her laptop with its thin, sleek frame and pink skin. She was coming to spend more and more time on it—checking messages, researching companies, reading incriminating news, and typing her own mini-reports. She made it a point to sit in sunlight while she worked so that she could look outside and disregard any seeming similarity to Wesker in her behavior; for she didn't like thinking of herself as antisocial or a workaholic. She smiled and shook her head. She could understand why he spent so much time on computers given their utility and the copious amounts of time that not sleeping afforded.

She clicked on her inbox and was greeted by three unread messages. One was from Leon Kennedy, and she happily opened it. It had been four months since she'd last been in contact with him.

_Claire,_

_Nothing to report, but Terrasave seems like a solid organization with a good reputation. They've made some progress in exposing human testing, but they have no authority to act on the information that they gain. Their hands are tied when it comes to action unless they're hiring lawyers. _

_Leon_

Quick and to the point, just like Leon. Claire closed the message and leaned into her hands in thought. Leon would know if Terrasave was a safe company because of his biohazard-related, government position, and she trusted both his professional and personal opinion. She had even thought to tell him about her death since he knew that she had been virally exposed and distrusted the government like she did, but she had yet to act on the notion. He was a trusted friend, but they hadn't seen each other in months and the infection subject had never come up since he'd returned to governmental work. If it did, maybe she'd tell him, but Leon hadn't inquired, partly because doing so over e-mail was dangerous. Unless she could tell him in person, she'd rather not risk exposing herself.

She wondered what secrets Leon kept from the rest of the survivors, for she suspected that there were quite a few. The suggestion was there, in the undertones of his words and actions or lack there of. As fond as Claire was of him, he was reserved and rarely spoke about his work experiences after Raccoon. She always had a nagging feeling when the issue came up, that he was omitting important details, such as Ada Wong. Claire knew little about the woman, but Leon had close contact with her, judging by the undercurrents that he gave off. Well, it was none of Claire's business. She was a friend and Leon could tell her if he wanted. The whole mystique made her wonder if she emitted ambiguous signals when Wesker was mentioned.

The next e-mail was an automated reply from Terrasave, saying that a representative would respond to her message within three days. No surprise there. Then there was the last message, and Claire excitedly jerked the mouse toward it. She had been anticipating this for days: her reply from Rebecca Chambers.

Claire barely read the message as she downloaded the large, attached file. She impatiently waited for it to finish and wondered if she'd find anything revealing. She had never read the records of the Stars office, but the idea had been there, at the back of her mind since Wesker had first captured her. Doing some more intensive research on him had occurred to her after the story of Matthews, but it had only been a curious possibility then. Over the proceeding months it had grown into a larger fascination that begged to be pursued, and she saw no harm in doing so, hence her e-mail to Rebecca. The request that she'd sent had suggested that she was researching the outbreak incident, but there was only one section of information that she was interested in: personnel files. If Wesker wouldn't tell her about himself, she'd find out on her own.

She browsed the numerous pages of data until she came across the files that she required. She temporarily loitered over Chris's profile, just to see what it said, but it was old news. She scrolled down and her eyes immediately honed in on the name that she desired.

"Albert Wesker," she mouthed to herself. "Born 1960." She paused. Was he really nineteen years older than her? She kept reading. "O blood type, six feet tall, around a hundred eighty pounds, Caucasian…" Her eyes moved onward, searching for anything of interest. He'd been Stars captain for two years and had helped found the organization under the pretense of a special security force for the city. Claire recalled how excited Chris had been when he'd made Alpha team, but her mental meanderings were interrupted by a small paragraph at the bottom of the page.

It contained his background information, such as education, training, and residency. Claire's finger touched the screen and ran under the name of his college: UC Berkeley, Biochemical Engineering Program, and he would have been sixteen, judging by the year that he completed his studies. Good god, Claire thought, he had been that young and conducting research? She knew that Wesker was incredible smart, but she hadn't anticipated this. Clearly he was much more of an adept scientist than she had imagined, although he had mentioned switching to Stars because he had reached the limits of his potential in that area. Claire couldn't fathom what kind of geniuses he must have been working alongside of to reach such a conclusion.

Returning to the internet, Claire searched for a Dr. Matthews at Wesker's college. He was listed as retired, but his contact information displayed an address not far from the campus. Claire smiled and wrote down the location, but should she visit him? She was not a lovesick girl to run halfway across the country to learn more about a man. She paused and blankly stared at the school's website.

She had enough money for a trip now that her funds were no longer being directed toward college, and her curiosity was extremely high. She had never sat by when she felt inclined to do something, and she reasoned that she had run across greater distances looking for Chris and Umbrella bases. This was no different and just as personal. Maybe she would learn something that would help her understand Wesker, which would be useful in the long run. She could hear herself talking to Chris on the phone back when he was training for Stars. Wesker, "the captain", had instructed him to read books on psychology, and Claire had asked why, if he was only supposed to arrest criminals. She had been younger and less experienced then. Now she felt foolish for having not seen the practicality of Wesker's suggestion. Hadn't he shown her how imperative understanding people was for survival and success?

Her decision was made and she purchased a plane ticket for the following day. She immediately began packing a single suitcase for departure as the urge to hit the road overtook her. It was akin to the feeling that she had once gotten from sitting on her motorcycle with the prospect of finding something new. She had no idea what she would learn from this venture, but whatever it was, she knew that she was ready for it.


	3. Chapter 3: Watching from Afar

I know you've all been waiting for this, so here it is.

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Chapter 3: Watching from Afar

Wesker was not amused. His long strides glided over the compound's interior yard as he approached a group of guards waiting nervously under his stare. There were three of them? Why did it take three men to capture a single intruder? He hated dealing with inexperienced and ineffectual personnel, and it was only a rare occurrence that brought him into contact with them. His red eyes flashed toward the man kneeling on the ground between the guards with deadly intent. This man had actually managed to steal a sample from the lab. Wesker wasn't sure if it was more surprising that he had succeeded or that the barely capable guards had caught such a man.

He would have fired them on the spot, but he was technically a guest here at TriCell, and he didn't need to distance Excella by overstepping his boundaries just yet. His booted feet stopped before the kneeling man and Wesker appraised him. He was very dark-skinned, with a shaved head where sweat was beading due to the heat. Wesker didn't feel the temperature in his concealing, black outfit, but he could imagine how uncomfortable the environment was. His dark shades angled downward toward the intruder with interest and watched the man's insistence on a straight and stern face. A fighter then, Wesker decided, or maybe it was an exterior afforded by his lack of appreciation for the predicament that he was in.

"Did you retrieve the sample?" Wesker asked the guards.

"Yes, sir. We've sent for a…"

"No need," Wesker interrupted and held out an expectant hand. "I will handle it." The sample was quickly turned over and Wesker pocketed it. "Where did you find him?"

"Right inside the front door, sir. He was trying to use a stolen security guard's card, but it was flagged."

"He's from this area?" Wesker guessed.

"Yes, sir."

"And how did he get the security card?" Wesker pressed. He did not expect an accurate answer, but the guards fumbled over half-ass explanations anyway. They really were worthless most of the time, but Wesker knew that they could cause harm. Any idiot could cause harm in the right situation, which would be an unfortunate matter for someone if it applied here. He had zero tolerance for lowly liabilities. Someone had either been careless with his security card, or…his veiled eyes drifted to the guards. There were anti-Tricell sympathies in this area, which was why it was foolish to hire locals.

"Where are you three from?" Wesker inquired. Suddenly the captured man's eyes shot to Wesker's face, and the tyrant did not miss the gesture as the guards answered. "And are any of your comrades from this area?" His voice sent a chill through the air that caused the men to visibly shift. Wesker would have smirked at the ease with which he frightened them had he not been so annoyed. "Give me the security pass," he demanded. His eyes scanned it. As expected. The card belonged to a guard drawn from a surrounding town.

"Bring him here," Wesker ordered and returned his attention to the man at his feet. "I don't suppose you were working for anyone, were you?" he inquired with a distinct, mocking curl to his voice. It was the deriding tone more than anything that made the man glare. He had vowed not to speak, not to give satisfaction to this demon man, whom he had heard rumors about in town. He was evil, of that the prisoner was sure. No one could act as cold and cruel as this monster did and have an ounce of humanity.

"Now would be the time to talk if you expect a quick end," Wesker drawled with slight interest. The brave ones always made for more interesting interrogations, for the very moral indignation that often drove them was their greatest undoing. It reminded him of Chris. He only had to press a few buttons. "I don't suppose that we in some way disrupted your lovely, pastoral life, did we? You have my sincerest apologies." The man only hardened his stare and Wesker allowed him a brief glance behind his sunglasses. That definitely elicited a reaction of widened eyes. Wesker barely smirked, but his strict mask fell back into place as the guards returned.

"Here he is, sir," a guard announced, pushing another uniformed man forward. The scrawny man stumbled, his eyes darting to the kneeling prisoner before going to Wesker. Ah, Wesker thought, the betraying sign of loyalty was in the man's eyes. He was not as resolute or strong as his friend; that was for certain.

"This man is from your area," Wesker said. "Did you help him get inside?"

"No, sir. He is no friend of mine, sir." Wesker's blank face made the man squirm. No one could ever tell what the tyrant was thinking.

"So you aided him through negligence then," Wesker stated. "That's unfortunate. It would have looked better to end as a traitor rather than a fool." With that, Wesker whipped out his pistol faster than any of the men could follow and planted a bullet in the guard's head. The prisoner visibly jerked in emotion but controlled himself at the last minute, falling back into his relaxed position while the body less than foot away from him spilled blood across the grass and paved walkway.

"Clean it up," Wesker coolly ordered the guards. "You didn't work with anyone," Wesker decided as he looked at his prisoner.

"No," the man gently spoke, and Wesker had to give him credit for his controlled tone. "But there are more like us, who you've made suffer."

"I'm sure that you have plenty of company," Wesker coldly agreed. He sensed a morose, resigned aura around the man that whispered of personal loss. "Was it a family member?" he asked. The man looked at him, detecting the slight toying quality to his voice. Wesker was trying to bait him into revealing his motives, and it worked.

"My sister never came back from her treatment here." Curiosity satisfied, Wesker aimed his gun and shot the man through the forehead.

"Clean that up as well," he instructed as he sidestepped the blood fanning out toward his shoes. Now that this hassle had been handled, there was more important business to focus on. He was only here for an inspection of the facilities before he personally stationed himself here. His arrangements were almost finished and then he had to ship a test subject. He glanced to his left, up to the second floor, where large glass windows overlooked the yard. A woman stood there, all slender, attractive curves and dark eyes as she watched him. Wesker wondered if she got a kick out of seeing him execute his work, for she prized efficiency as much as he did. Excella briefly inclined her elegant neck toward him, but Wesker made no acknowledgment of her.

He entered the building and navigated his way to his quarters. Staying here would have been convenient, and Excella had baited him with advantages to doing so, but he had decided against it. She was a conniving woman, and he knew that she liked to keep her enemies and allies as close as possible, which was why he kept himself a step ahead of her. He did not need to be here permanently until the final preparations were made for the new virus, and that was months, maybe even a year or two off. There was no telling time with research, but in the meantime the company was gaining a stronger foothold here and the political gears were turning in his favor. Let the pieces slide together before he moved.

That brought him back to his current task. He needed to check on the work here and assure his allies of his intentions and collaboration before he left to finish his own research. He had collected the date for every known BOW, as well as viral samples, and he was allowing Excella's company to experiment with and refine them. They were adequately equipped for the job, but he had not shared everything with them—not by a long shot. He kept his deck perpetually full, and staying here meant the hassle of having people try to steal a glance at his hand. He preferred working alone, and so he planned to leave within two weeks. He had the last samples of new viral variants and research to collect from his various employers and some private research to conclude.

He sat at his computer and entered his password with a satisfied smirk. It was good to be so close. He had started with Umbrella at the ripe age of seventeen and bided his time in the ranks, gaining influence and plotting as he fully realized what science could offer him. He was forty-eight now, and that was a long time to wait for the power that was rightfully his. The world belonged to those mighty enough to claim her, and she would be at his feet before he was done. There was nothing that he craved more. Suddenly a peculiar phrase dovetailed with his thoughts: _You have power issues; you know that, right?_

Claire Redfield, he contemplated, folding his arms over his lap. If she had stayed she'd be working at his side by now, no doubt sitting here, in this room with him while he worked. He suddenly realized just how quiet and dark his workspace was, but he was back into his normal routine now, and conjectures of what he'd have if everything had gone as planned would lead nowhere. Still, she would have been excellent eyes and ears, someone to warmly watch his back and make smartass comments about the employees here. She would have been perfect, but she had left.

The red in Wesker's eyes flared.

He had barely heard a word at the meeting that day. In fact, he had been on the verge of crushing someone's skull, and then he'd returned to the lab. He'd checked the room and the labs, even the firing range. He had looked even though he suspected that she was long gone. His first reaction was frustrated anger, and he'd broken a table by slamming his fist into it. Then came the professional concern about his laptop, which he had carelessly left in her possession. Wesker inclined his head in thought. He had almost labeled Claire as a target for elimination due to her clear rejection of his offer and flight to his enemies when the computer reversed that.

It hadn't been touched. It hadn't been tampered with. It just sat there, exactly where he had left it with Claire's hair tie beside it. She could have taken every bit of information and viral research that he had collected and turned it over to his enemies in a devastating reversal of fortunes. It would have been cause for serious action, but she had left it with a clear marker of having realized the opportunity and forsaken it. Wesker had lost her physically, but mentally she was still under his sway, and that meant that there was still a chance. He could imagine how conflicted she was in pursuing her cause but wanting to avoid confronting him. She might yet be his, especially once obstacles like Chris were removed and his enemies had grown weaker. She would have fewer reasons to resist him under such conditions.

Claire Redfield. Wesker had placed more trust in her than anyone, and she had left him without betraying that in her own fashion. He had been angry when she was not to be found, he realized. He had also been disappointed by her rejection of his offer. Perhaps that had fueled the frustration, for he had offered her more than anyone before and she had foolishly refused it. Was there a sense of loss? In some ways, yes, as mixed as matters concerning her had become. Betrayal? Wesker stopped himself there and mentally frowned.

She had acted as rationally as she could given her circumstances. Her moral self-preservation had called for it when she realized that she would slip from her standpoint if she stayed. In a way, she had been pragmatic to push her emotions aside. Betrayal. Wesker found it strange that the word had come to his mind. It was foolish to get caught up in such things since humans were only ever really loyal to themselves in the end. He had seen it time and again. Real, outside loyalty was scarce. He had personally never been disloyal since he had never claimed to be loyal to anyone but himself. But he had wanted Claire's loyalty towards him, and he had thought that it might be possible with her, which is why he had extended some trust. He had wanted her emotions to bind her to him. He still did, but trust meant the possibility of betrayal.

_Dear heart, what have you been up to?_ Wesker opened a program on his desktop. There was a tracker implanted in Claire's laptop, and not only could he tell exactly where she was, but he could access her files. He kept a close watch over her to ensure that she was not captured by rivals or causing problems for him. He smirked. Anything on her computer was open to him, but he had not checked on her for two weeks since he had been busy. Wesker eyed her location with curiosity. Claire was on a plane. He accessed her internet history and found that she was heading to California. What was she doing? He perused her activities.

She was researching companies and organizations, so it was clear that she was getting ready to act, but what of these various, unrelated searches? Apparently she was having nightmares again, unlike when they had shared a bed. He coldly smiled as he read through her conversations with Chris, for he knew that she was trying to express herself without bringing him into the conversations. It was bothersome that Chris and her were on such good terms, but Wesker knew that he could destroy that at will.

His attention hitched as he checked her Google searches. UC Berkeley, Dr. Matthews. Wesker's interest rose as he contemplated the meaning of her actions, which were made more obvious by her possession of Stars files. He tapped his fingers on the desk. She was looking into his past, and it made him muse over her parting words for the one-hundredth time. She was certainly putting effort into this, but Wesker was a man who left few traces. He decided to keep a closer eye on her for the next few days.


	4. Chapter 4: A Look into the Past

Okay, here's a longer chapter, but it was necessary to flesh out the situation. For you action junkies, that's on the way.

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Chapter 4: A Look into the Past

Claire stood on the front porch of the house and knocked. She could hear someone moving around inside, upstairs, now moving downward. Her head turned to scan the suburban neighborhood with its sunny disposition and neat rows of houses. It was the type of neighborhood that she had lived in before her parents' death, and the idea of Wesker having been raised in such a normal place struck her as odd. A kid was walking a dog along the sidewalk; cars were leaving for work; cats were sitting in windows. She smiled. It really was odd, but she didn't know what she had expected to find.

"Can I help you with something, young lady?" a man asked. He had just opened the door and stood regarding Claire with interest. His gray, combed back hair, wiry frame, and warm smile immediately made Claire like him. Frameless glasses sat high on his nose while he casually wiped dirty hands on a paper towel.

"Hi," Claire greeted. "I'm Claire Redfield, and I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions—if you don't mind, that is."

"Miss Redfield," the man chuckled, "I used to be a philosophy professor. I made my living off of questions. Please, come inside." Claire gratefully stepped in and was led into a sitting room. "I'm afraid that you've caught me fixing a broken facet, so please excuse me for not shaking your hand." The way he was leaning against the entranceway with his sleeves casually rolled up and relaxed legs made Claire wonder how old he was. Certainly he had to be in his mid sixties at the youngest, but he appeared much younger because of his mannerisms.

"It's no problem," Claire told him, excusing his dirty hands. "Thanks for offering to listen to me, Dr. Matthews."

"Please, sit," Matthews insisted, motioning toward the couch. "And there's no need for formality. You may call me Isaac."

"And you can call me Claire."

"Well then, Claire, how can this humble retiree help you?" Claire smiled and gently crossed one leg while Matthews sat in a chair across from her.

"I was hoping that you could tell me something about Albert Wesker," she said, unsure of what kind of response she'd receive. She could tell that Isaac was carefully watching her as he leaned back into his seat and folded his arms across his lap. His mouth was tightly sealed and the lips curved downward ever so slightly, but Claire knew that he wasn't angry. She could see the soft, tired droop to his eyes that made her pity the man. He had the eyes of someone who had lost something dear to him.

"You know Albert?" Isaac questioned.

"Yes," and the equal softness in Claire's voice suggested to Isaac that the subject of his adoptive son somehow also caused pain in this young woman.

"How? And why do you want to know about him? I hope you don't mind my bluntness, but I'd like to know before we talk."

"Of course," Claire consented. "We met a while ago and spent some time together. We haven't known each other long. He helped me get through some rough times, but we…I'm going to be honest, Isaac; I don't know how to explain this, but I want to know more about him." Isaac smiled sadly at her as he tossed his cleaning rag over her head and into a trashcan.

"You care about him," he said, catching Claire off guard. "It's sort of obvious from the way that you're talking, and, if that's why you want to know more about him, then I'll answer your questions, but first I'd like to know what he's been doing. Is he still with Umbrella?"

"He was until several years ago, with the Raccoon City incident."

"Yes, my mistake. I meant, is he still involved with similar work?"

"Unfortunately, and that's as much as I can tell you. He keeps his work hidden, so I don't think anyone can really answer your question properly. I'm sorry." Isaac waved a hand dismissively.

"No need to be sorry. It's not your fault. Now what would you like to know?"

"Everything?" Claire said, and Isaac lightly laughed.

"Everything, huh? You could be here all day, Claire." The intensity in her eyes told him that the idea had occurred to her and that she was dead serious about doing so. He could have sworn that he just saw gold in her eyes, and it stopped his laughter short. "You're willing to do that…" he mused. "Okay, Miss Redfield, I suggest that we get started then. I'm not sure what you already know, if anything."

"I know that you took Albert in after his parents died," Claire offered. "And I know why you haven't been in contact with him."

"He told you that?" Isaacs asked, stunned. "Well, that's astounding. It's very hard to get him to talk about his personal life, but you're correct. I took him in after his parents were murdered. Some psychopath broke into their house when Albert was ten and tried to rob them. When Paul got in his way, he got stabbed twenty times, or so the report said, and Beatrice was raped and tortured until her body finally quit on her. When they found Albert, he was in the room with the bodies, huddled in the corner behind the sofa with blood on his hands. He had been stabbed in the shoulder because he'd tried to stop the man from hurting his mom." Isaac noted Claire's abhorred expression and shook his head.

"I could never get Albert to talk about it. He only ever said that one day the police would catch the man and punish him—when he was younger, that is. He used to have me take him to the station once a week and he'd ask the police chief if they'd caught the criminal. They actually tried making him see a psychiatrist because of his fixation, but he as a smart boy and understood exactly what had happened and was already accepting it.

And then he got older, and I think that he lost whatever faith he had in people like police. By fourteen he was handling all of his problems alone, whether something had been stolen from him or someone had almost hit him with a car. Yes, I remember when someone lightly hit him with their side-view mirror, and Albert talked the man into compensating him to the tune of three hundred dollars instead of reporting it."

"So he was very quick and capable," Claire thought aloud.

"Oh, you have no idea," Isaac fondly smiled. "He learned faster than anyone that I've ever seen, and he always figured out how to fix his own problems without help. I used to help him when he first came here, but soon he refused help even on things like crossword puzzles—well, not always. He was never afraid to have me do something that he wasn't capable of doing, but if he could do it alone, he would. He liked to do things for himself, and, you might find this hard to believe, but on his eleventh birthday I asked him why he liked working alone. I remember because it was right after he opened a book on chemistry that I had bought him, and he told me that he preferred working solo because he wanted to be sure that things were done right."

"I guess group projects didn't go well in school," Claire joked.

"You'd be surprised," Isaac chuckled. "He had worked in groups many times before, and I don't think that he minded it so much. He was always very good with people, and he usually ended up directing the others or having a leadership role. That's just how he was; he was good at being the directing hand in projects." _You have no idea_, Claire thought.

"But was he a nice kid? I don't mean to sound offensive, but he sounds like he was serious for a child," Claire commented.

"Ah, Claire, he was gentle and kind," Isaac answered pointedly with a friendly smile toward her concern. "He helped me around the house and would chat about what he was learning in school and how bored he was with the subjects until I moved him ahead several grades. He was assertive and had several friends that he played with in this neighborhood. Of course, when he was working, he was focused and serious, and you can imagine that he grew agitated when he felt threatened. After his parents' murder…you see, I noticed it immediately one day when I took him for a walk. Someone much larger than me and fairly scruffy approached us, and it was just a homeless man asking for change, but Albert wasn't used to seeing them yet. The man didn't even get to ask his question before Albert had stepped in front of me and threatened the man, telling him that he had a knife with him that he wasn't afraid to use. I was surprised to see that Albert actually did have a knife, from my kitchen no less, and I took it back and explained homeless people to him.

Still, I was amazed by how quickly he went on the offensive. When someone threatened him or he perceived it that way, he never got scared or defensive but aggressive. It was quite shocking in someone his age, and he kept that aspect all the way through the lower grades, but he seemed to mellow some in high school." Isaac smiled ruefully and slapped his knees. "But I've been talking on and on, and you have said so little. Is there anything in particular that you're interested it?"

"Trust me, everything that you've said is interesting," Claire assured. "I just want to understand him better, hear your impression of him, what he was like as he got older—things like that."

"He always had my favorable impression until he got older," Isaac decided after scratching his face in thought. "Like I said, he was a very productive and nice kid. He rarely got in trouble that I know of, and there were times that we would walk to the university together in summer and he'd ask me about philosophy, why women insisted on wearing high heels if they're painful, and whether or not we could get ice cream." Claire laughed and Isaac found himself laughing with her. "He always did love ice cream. Cookie dough was his favorite. He got the same flavor every single time at the corner shop. You see, Claire, I loved Albert like he was my son. I lived alone after losing my wife, and his company was a blessing. I used to tell him that being alone was the worst fate in the history of mankind."

"You have my complete sympathy," Claire said, and Isaac approvingly noted the genuine kindness and understanding stamped on her face. "But what happened as he got older?"

"Well, he got to high school and was sort of ostracized for being much younger but smarter than his older peers. I tried to tell him that they were just jealous, and—I will never forget this—he told me, "They are only weaklings that feel threatened." But the situation smoothed and he had what I assumed were friends, but maybe closer peers who he discussed things with would be a better way to describe it. He never invited people over for social occasions, although he did go out sometimes, but not with the older kids. No, he went out for walks by himself. You see; there wasn't any real place for him to fit in. He couldn't hang out with his classmates because they were much older and did things that weren't appropriate or even of interest for his age, but he wouldn't spend time with his old friends. He was so far above them intellectually and maturity wise that he didn't enjoy being with them anymore. He was stuck, and I couldn't find a suitable friend for him."

"That's sad," Claire said, "But he seems to have handled it."

"That's one way to put it," Isaac agreed. "He depended on his natural affinity for work, and he spent more and more time alone; but he seemed to want to be with people. He came with me to the university to attend lectures or help me in the class. I used to have him help me grade papers, as funny as that sounds, and he remained very verbal with me. He especially liked bantering with my colleagues over things that he had read about, so he was still socially active, just not close to anyone except myself, and I didn't like that. I'm sure that you know this, but he's very smooth with words—a splendid conversationalist when he decides to talk—and my friends loved talking with him. It was a double-edged sword, as it turned out."

"What do you mean?" Claire asked and monitored the darkening of Isaac's face.

"He would talk people into doing things for him. Once I accelerated him to the college level, he would get privileges in the science labs and in his on-campus work by convincing people to help him whether the privilege was merited or not. I was unaware of it until one of my students said that Albert had been found continually breaking the rules at work and always got away with it. I've come to the conclusion that he was so people-smart, even at his age, that he could twist and turn things in his favor. Indeed, almost everything seemed to come out in his favor if it mattered to him. He was tenacious when it came to his goals. Good lord, you should have seen the overtime that he put in at lab to finish his degree so quickly."

"But was he still close to you," Claire continued. "What made you send him away?" Isaac stared into her eyes and felt his chest constrict.

"Disowning him was the worst mistake of my life, Claire," he breathed with regret. "I was angry and acted rashly to do that, but this pride of mine has always prevented me from doing anything about it. I'm a sorry old man in that regard…" He shook his head. "Claire, I don't know if he changed drastically or if his natural inclinations took over, but he was attracted to Umbrella's promises. I thought maybe it was the high quality of the work, but I think that it was more than that. Looking back, I can see trends that were unclear before. Some of the essays he wrote, his aggressive drive, the ideas and kinds of positions that he found attractive…they all pointed to him being a dominating person with pragmatism that I, as a moralist, found disturbing. We never agreed on anything as he got older. It was clear that the same ambitious, inquisitive manner that had driven him to devour my library as a child had developed into a career ambitions."

They sat in uncomfortable silence as Claire watched her shoes and Isaac poured over his reflections. Claire pitied the old man in his troubled memories.

"Sometimes I wonder if I did something wrong. I should have seen these things earlier. Do you know that I suspect he found his parents' murder? Oh yes, and I think that he exacted his own justice. That alone showed a disdain for the law that I can see was still present in college when he bent the rules to suit himself. I can't blame him for that after what happened to his family, but I wish that I could have found him close friends and given him a brighter path. At the end, the day he left, he looked so pained when I told him not to come back," Isaac sucked in his breath and briefly coughed. "Claire, he never stopped being talkative with me or offering to help me around the house up to that conversation. He even showed extreme kindness to people that he barely knew on occasion, and I wanted him to consider me his father. I've never stopped caring about him, but he doesn't know that. I have no idea how it affected him when I severed the one close, relationship that he had. I blew it, Claire. I really blew it."

"Isaac," Claire began, searching for the words. "I'm sorry about what happened, but you can't blame yourself. Albert chose his own path, and, if it makes you feel better, I think most of what he is came from being immersed in a place like Umbrella. The morals and ethics of the people there were disgusting, even if they were brilliant. At least they didn't kill him like they did Birkin…" She felt her emotions rising and quickly lowered her eyes lest they turn amber. She focused on emptying herself. She couldn't slip on her sunglasses in the middle of this conversation.

"Claire, may I ask you a personal question?" Isaac gently inquired.

"Sure."

"You love him, don't you?" There was an incredibly long pause before Claire gave a shy smile.

"Is it that obvious? Because sometimes I don't know if I do or I don't."

"That I can't help you with, despite all my years of studying human questions," Isaac offered with a forced smile. "Let me get you some lunch before you head out."

"That would be great, thanks," Claire said, standing with him and following him into the kitchen. She was starting to feel at home with Matthews after their conversation, and they chatted away as she helped him make two sandwiches and later, fix the sink. When she told him that she had nowhere to stay for the night, he gave her the use of his guest room. She was pleased to know that Wesker had once been taken care of by this thoughtful man, and his words had given her a lot to digest. When Isaac bid her goodnight, he jokingly told her that Wesker had never had a girlfriend due to age differences, so she didn't need to worry about high school sweethearts tracking him down. Claire smiled sweetly and lay on the couch, images of Wesker picking up a girl for prom amusing her for the rest of the night.

****************

The red location dot was definitely sitting over Dr. Matthews house, and, Wesker checked the time, she was staying the night. He had lab reports to read, but his eyes kept wandering to that dot. Whatever Dr. Matthews told Claire would be of little consequence, but that didn't mean that he wasn't curious. No one had ever bothered looking into his younger years, for those who were interested in him were only concerned with his professional history, which was a hassle. He did not like having people nose into his work, even if the intrusion was minor. The Agency had tried to do so once and he had quickly eliminated the problem.

Claire was after something else entirely, but whatever remained of his past was so obscure and impersonal, excluding Matthews, that there was no advantage to investigating it for professional interests or otherwise. He cleared his tracks well. Still, Claire would dig up information. Maybe this would work to his advantage in bringing Claire closer to him. He _did_ want to know what Matthews was telling her to better judge his chances on that note.


	5. Chapter 5: Contact

Chapter 5: Contact

If the man beside her didn't stop snoring, Claire was going to crack. The noise was mercilessly grinding on her heightened senses, and her nose picked up the smell of his sweat with its glorious resemblance to moldy socks. Wonderful. The plane was packed, and she was stuck sitting between a smelly snorer and the window. Her ears easily zoned in on different conversations and then shut them out in boredom as she closed a window on her laptop. She was on her way to Terrasave's headquarters for a meeting with a representative to discuss and set up a job. The excitement of getting started somewhat alleviated her current circumstances.

Mr. Snorer let loose with a particularly loud outburst, and Claire cringed.

_I will not hurt him. I will not hurt him. I will not_…She leaned into her seat with a sigh when a beep drew her attention to the laptop. A textbox had appeared, and she smiled, thinking that it was Chris. Her fingers extended to type 'hello' when the sender sent her a second message.

_Good evening. Having nightmares again?_ Claire froze and frowned. The user was someone unfamiliar: unknown111. No one knew of her account except Chris, and this was certainly not Chris. She carefully titled her screen away from any prying eyes and sent a response.

"Who is this?"

_I should think that I'd already given myself away_. Claire raked her brain for possible suspects. Who would find her contact information, and who would bother using it? _Still guessing? _Claire furrowed her brow and referred to the nightmare line. Suddenly she leaned forward with an intent expression. She could hardly believe who was speaking with her, but there was only one possible candidate.

"Albert Wesker."

_Correct._ Claire wasn't sure what to do. She had wanted to speak with him, but she didn't know what to say now that he had initiated contact. Perhaps there were simply too many things on her mind. Merely knowing that she had a way to reach him comforted her, but she also wondered what he was up to in doing this. Either way, a sense of relief flooded her system as she realized that he hadn't forgotten or rejected her. Here he was, chatting by his own initiative. _You've been busy lately, dear heart_.

"Have you been watching me?" she accused.

_I'll leave that to your imagination. _

"That's a yes." She could picture him sitting in the dark, smirking at her snappy response. Or maybe he was testy with her for her actions. As much as she felt that she'd made the right decision, she still wanted to explain herself to Wesker and had regretted not being able to. "I didn't mean to leave you like I did. I didn't have time to give a reason, and I knew that you'd tempt me if I stayed."

_I know you better than you give me credit for, Claire. Whatever you would say I've already considered. Are you feeling guilty? _

"Apparently you know the answer to that already too." Now she was a bit annoyed with his effortless and accurate assumptions. He was probably chuckling right now. "Why are you doing this?" Claire asked.

_I have no company in my dark, dingy hole. _

"Just give me a straight reason."

_You recently made an interesting trip, and it has me curious. Beyond that, you have an idea, I believe. Dear heart, I don't need a strict reason for speaking with you_. Claire smiled under the full awareness of how much she had missed this man. Talking to him again made everything on the plane disappear into nothingness. She could almost feel his fingertips trailing over her jaw line. Whereas once the gesture had been mocking and manipulative, it had come to express his reserved fondness for her. She had never known that so much could be conveyed in one touch.

"I didn't turn my back on you when I left," Claire emphasized.

_Funny, I recall seeing just that when I was in the elevator. _

"You know what I mean. I told you."

_Indeed._ Claire shifted uncomfortably in her seat as she remembered telling him that she might be in love with him. She couldn't imagine what he had thought of that. It was probably logged away for future leverage, but she liked to think better of him than that.

"Were you angry?"

_It was a good thing that no subordinates were at hand. _

"And now?"

_Now I'm waiting._

"For what?"

_You'll see. _Claire did not like the sound of that. _So how is Dr. Matthews?_

"He regrets what he did."

_That's of no consequence now. Did you learn anything interesting?_ Claire smiled. It was her turn to have a jab at his expense.

"You like cookie dough ice cream, and the rest I'll leave to your imagination."

_Sarcasm will get you nowhere._

"It's working out for me." She paused. "How's life without my mouth around?" She awaited the answer knowing that he would be vague.

_It's productive. Progressing. Do you want me to say that I've missed you?_ She knew that he was making fun of her with that one.

"I know that you have since you're chatting with me. And you obviously know that I've been thinking about you."

_Nightmares?_

"You're in them, but they're not about what you'd think."

_And are you still indeterminate_? Claire did not answer. _I see. Dear heart, I have to go, but it has been a pleasure. Do get a new phone._

"I wouldn't need to if you had given mine back." Claire didn't want him to go yet. It had barely been seven minutes and she might not hear from him again for months. "Will we chat again?"

_And I thought that getting closer to the enemy was what you were trying to avoid. You can't postpone this forever. Goodbye, Claire. _

"Thank you," Claire impulsively typed. "For the key."

_If you want to thank me, then use it_. _But be warned, Claire_; _I won't take less than a commitment this time. You will either be an enemy or a friend. _He was offline, and Claire sighed. He wanted her to make a decision in his favor, but he had been right; Claire was still torn. The bastard knew it. She tilted her head to look out the window. Life would be so much simpler if she had never met him, but she couldn't undo what had happened.

Why did he need a final answer so soon? Soon was a relative term in Wesker's research-orientated world, but Claire still worriedly considered the options. If the time for an ultimate decision was fast approaching, that meant that he would soon launch whatever scheme he had been working on. _Please don't let that be it_, Claire begged, but she knew that the day was coming. It was getting closer with each passing day, and she intuitively understood that everyone who had been standing in Wesker's way—Chris, Jill, Leon, Rebecca, herself—would pay a heavy price to continue the fight. The personal stakes kept mounting. There would be much more death before this was over, but Claire vowed to do everything in her power to protect those that she loved.


	6. Chapter 6: The First Job

I know I'm getting slower with my posts, but don't worry; everything's coming along in a steady stream and will continue at a decent pace. I had to do some thinking about my story's direction before continuing, but here it is. And a BIG thank you to all the reviewers.

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Chapter 6: The First Job

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

"Come in, Miss Redfield!" Claire stepped into the brightly lit office in her khaki pants and a black button-up. She noticed the man behind the desk before her and how his amused eyes trailed downward to the slender, steel-toed boots sticking out from under her pants. "I wonder what kind of work you are expecting, Miss Redfield, that you came so prepared." His voice was laced with humor.

"Sir, with everything that I've been through, I wear shoes for action," Claire returned with equal levity. The man stood and extended a hand that she warmly shook. "Claire Redfield."

"Ethan Vanderbilt, and it's a pleasure to meet you, Claire, and welcome to Terrasave. Please have a seat and we'll get started." He reseated himself and Claire studied the confident ease of his posture. He came off as very professional, and Terrasave had obviously chosen a charismatic mouthpiece, but Claire wondered if there was substance beneath the prim, striped dress shirt and pressed trousers. She had encountered too many people that crumbled under pressure despite their exteriors to jump to any conclusions with this man.

He lifted his face and smiled in what he thought was a winning manner. Dark auburn hair fell around his ears in short waves while he removed a paper and pen from his desk. He must have spent some time outdoors given that his skin was slightly tanned, and Claire thought that there were marks of an old wound underneath his chin. He was quite average in appearance but for his strong presence. It lent his person a charming air that made him attractive.

"I'm afraid that you'll need to fill out some legal forms," Ethan apologized. "Don't worry about reading them. They basically say that if you lose body parts, get attacked by angry companies, etc., that you won't hold us liable."

"Sounds promising," Claire laughed. "Pass them here."

"Congratulations, Claire, you've passed the first test." She shot Ethan a questioning glance as she reached for the paper and pen. "You have a sense of humor. That's crucial when you deal with troubling issues like human testing. You'll see; the ones who are completely serious don't sleep at night."

"Believe me, I know." Claire began filling out the forms as Ethan rattled off information about Terrasave and its humanitarian mission to ensure ethical science. Claire had already researched almost everything that he was sharing.

"What kind of training do you have?" he finally asked, curious to analyze the newcomer's usefulness.

"I've trained in self-defense and I'm familiar with biohazard situations," Claire carefully stated. "I'd prefer fieldwork."

"Excellent, because that's what we need. See, a lot of these people have good hearts but aren't useful for more than office work, filing complaints, and whatnot. We could use some more daring individuals like yourself." The way that his eyes warmly lingered on her face made Claire privately smile. It had been a long time since anyone had given her playful attention like that, but she hoped that Ethan wasn't a flirt. She was here to work, and she _would_ be taken seriously.

"Does hitting the road and gathering intelligence appeal to you?" Ethan asked while tapping a pen on his desk.

"I was born to travel," Claire said with anticipation. This work was perfect for her: active but not aggressively dangerous. Aggression would have to wait until she could be trusted to completely control her body's combat reactions and instincts. She unconsciously checked to make sure that sunglasses were tucked into her front pocket and found that they were. "I'm ready for my first assignment when you have it."

"No need to wait." And with a flourish he whipped a small folder out of his desk and handed it to her. She flipped it open to find 'Exaction' written across the top sheet. She scanned the information as Ethan continued. "This is a sub-branch of a larger company that's suspected of using human testing. What we don't know is how they recruit people for the tests and if there's a legitimate concern. That's what we want to know. The job's to travel to their newly opened building in Dallas and find out what's going on. If something's wrong, the next step's to protest and blacken their name, but other people will be brought in for that."

"So where's my ticket?" Claire joked.

"Ready to go, huh?" Ethan laughed. "Claire, say hello to your new partner." Claire glanced to her left, expecting someone new to be standing in the room, but it was only the two of them. Ethan made a small coughing noise and she turned back toward him. He was wearing a boyish grin that flawlessly matched his personality.

"You?" Claire questioned.

"I'm not exactly the office type myself. Don't let the dress clothing fool you. I'm known as a field agent and quite the rabble-rouser." Claire couldn't help but grin at his comical behavior as he stood and gestured toward his feet. He was wearing sneakers. "You could say that I learned a similar lesson to yours when I harassed a riot police officer at a demonstration."

"So we're a team then," Claire said and stood with him. He would not be boring to work alongside of, she was sure, but his charming tongue raised red flags. "I'm warning you not to take me lightly," Claire decided to tell him, just to be safe. After everything that she'd endured, she would not tolerate being underestimated or treated like she needed protection.

"I would never consider it," Ethan protested as they left the office. "I hope that you're not worried about my gender views, because I'm not sexist in the least. And no field agent acts alone on the first job. That's standard policy—not because anyone thinks that you're less capable. If you prove your worth, they'll let you work solo." They reached an elevator and Ethan subtly pointed to an older woman with a tight, white-haired bun mounted on the back of her head. "And, see that woman? Trust me, some of the scariest people that I've ever met are female."

"You're a wise man," Claire joked.

"Why thank you, Claire." They exited the building and began preparing for work with zest. With his quick mouth and humorous touch, Ethan was excellent company after spending so much time in limbo, but Claire was waiting to see how he handled the job. He seemed efficient, but Claire needed to know for certain. There was something unsettling about having an unknown comedian watch her back in a possibly dangerous situation. Raccoon and what she'd seen with Wesker made her more cautious when teaming up with people. Life was a precious treasure to be entrusted to someone else.

Claire watched Ethan's face and saw the lack of the scars that marred hers. In a way it was refreshing, and his good nature was infectious. He did not have reasons to prepare for the worst in dealing with pharmaceuticals like she did. That was why he could take everything so lightly as they readied themselves for the trip and not give taking guns a second thought. He didn't know what could happen to them if they crossed a line and pushed the wrong people too far. Maybe he thought about being roughed up. _Oh, he has no idea_, Claire thought as she pictured deformed corpses. _He has no idea at all_. It would be her job to expect biohazards for both of them. This company could be exactly like Umbrella or nothing like Umbrella.

***************

Claire and Ethan sat at a café across from the Exaction building with its cavernous, main entrance and steady human traffic. The bottom of the building was a hospital while the upper floors were corporate offices and research labs. Claire watched the people pass through the front doors and yearned to go inside and have a look around, but Ethan was reluctant to let her leave right now. He insisted on treating her to lunch first, and she had almost smacked herself in the forehead for her negligence. She'd forgotten how frequently she needed to eat around Ethan for appearances sake. She had eaten more in the last three days than the last month, and she was still unconsciously skipping meals in his presence.

"You should know that I think meat and potato girls are just fine," Ethan off-handedly commented, as a large bowl of pasta was set in front of Claire. She gave a short laugh as she reached for her fork.

"Thanks for the news flash," she sarcastically smiled. "Sometimes I'm just so focused on work that I forget to eat." She took a bite of the pasta and swallowed the tasteless mush whole to avoid the hassle of pretending to savor the non-existent flavor. She sighed and motioned for the waiter. "Do you have any hot sauce?" she asked. "And I mean hot, like super hot. Send-me-to-hell-hot."

"You like spicy food?" Ethan asked.

"You have no idea." She could see Wesker leaning against the counter with spicy noodles. She would be sitting on the countertop at the kitchen's center, casually talking to him as he ate. She felt the key against her chest but refrained from touching it. She could go there anytime, if she chose. It would be Wesker and her again, but what about this? She stared at the building that they were targeting and wished that Wesker had contacted her since the flight to Terrasave HQ. For a moment her eyes betrayed her wistfulness to Ethan, who had been talking about human test subjects that had been rescued from the former Umbrella Corporation. He falsely attributed her mood swing to his story and took the opportunity to gently reach across the table and tap her hand in a comforting gesture.

"Claire, why are you involved with Terrasave?" he asked. "Everyone has a reason for being here, and if we're going to work together, it might help build some trusty camaraderie to share." Claire snapped out of her memories and accepted her hot sauce from the waiter. Ethan's eyes grew as large as saucers as he watched her empty the entire bottle and happily dig into her fiery dish. The drenched mess would have scourged his mouth to no tomorrow.

"I was in Raccoon City during the Umbrella biohazard incident," Claire was saying. "I was one of the few survivors, and I'll never forget what I saw there." She had no fear of sharing this with him, for being a survivor did not in and of itself bring undo attention to her. Everyone, including Ethan, would assume that she was an average person who had run away. She had never shared the real story of infiltrating the lab and protecting Sherry or fighting the G-virus. That was best kept private, but the general idea of having been there was safe, and Ethan might actually understand what kind of horrors she had faced.

"Wow," Ethan contemplated. "I heard that there were monsters eating people in that outbreak. At least, that's what some of the reports claimed."

"They're true," Claire neutrally stated as she set her pasta aside.

"Oh. I had no idea…I can understand why you keep your feet ready for running." He seemed unsure as to how to react to her frank treatment of her experiences, so Claire decided to help him out. She didn't need him fumbling to offer her obligatory words of comfort, for she only liked people to extend genuine sympathy, and he couldn't offer that with his rudimentary knowledge of the incident.

"What about you?" Claire asked. "Why are you here?"

"That's a bit of a bitter story," Ethan humorously laughed. "My mom had breast cancer and went for treatment. The doctor promised that this new medicine that he wanted to give her was legit, but it really messed with her head. She started hallucinating and internally bleeding," his deep brown eyes were fixed on the saltshaker as he distantly ran a finger along his fork. "She died shortly after taking the medicine, and it was only then that we realized that she'd unknowingly signed an agreement to participate in a new drug test. I know it's not on the scale of an Umbrella biohazard, but it hit me pretty hard. That's why I'm here."

"I'm sorry about your mom," Claire softly offered. "I know that it's hard to lose a parent." Ethan shook his head with a smile.

"Forget it, Claire, and I'm glad that you're easy to talk to." Their eyes met and Claire returned his smile before the seriousness of their conversation was dispelled. "Let's get to work, shall we? Do you have any ideas, newbie?"

"I don't know what you're doing, but I'm walking in that front door and poking around. Why don't you see if you can find out anything about locals who get treatment there?"

"Brilliant idea, but just remember to keep your hands clean. We don't need legal issues dodging us. Let's meet at the car in four hours," he added, checking his watch. It was one in the afternoon.

"Let's not have a time restriction," Claire suggested. "We can meet at the car whenever our separate tasks are finished."

"Hey, you're quite assertive for the underling," Ethan joked but stopped when he noticed Claire's dark expression. "I'm just joking. You have good suggestions, and we're teammates, not formal employee-employer. I'll see you later." Claire bid him goodbye and approached the company building to meander inside. She did not play by legal rules—she thought that lives were too important to be lost over such matters—but she wasn't about to tell Ethan that. He would be surprised by how late she returned tonight since she would probably not be done with her task until early morning. Just in case she had problems, he had her phone number. Claire pulled her new pink phone from her pants and turned it on silent mode.

She walked through the metal detectors at the entrance of the building and set them off in a high-pitched blare. She apologized and sent her boots through the machine while explaining that she had a steel toe. The explanation was accepted, and they never suspected that there was a switchblade hidden in the rubber sole of the left boot. Cleared, she walked toward the front desk. The right hallway went toward the hospital and the left went toward the business sector. She was forced to take the hospital path when security guards gave her no other option, and there she found nothing but white halls, patients, and doctors doing their jobs. She had expected as much. She wasn't going to find revealing evidence using surface tactics like walking around, but she could claim that to her bosses. She was actually searching for an appropriate hiding place and access to the upper floors.

The business and research section of the building had security guards at the elevators, at least on the first floor, and Claire was betting that it got worse on the upper stories; but the hospital elevators weren't monitored as closely. That was one of the first items of interest that she noted after being instructed to leave the premises several times, but she got away with claiming to be lost. Eventually she bluffed her way into the visitation section of the hospital and now she stood inside of an empty elevator heading for the tenth floor. A map had shown that research labs started on that level. It would take some luck and some skill to get through this.

She inhaled and allowed herself a smile as the elevator slowed. She could definitely do this properly. Claire Redfield knew that she could bullshit her way through hazardous situations, especially after Wesker had tested her against Daniels and later his employers at a meeting. The doors opened and she frantically ran out, right passed a guard before turning with a panicked expression.

"Oh my gosh, is there a bathroom around here?" she hurriedly asked.

"Excuse me missus," the guard said, raising a hand, "But do you have clearance for this level?"

"Sir, please!" Claire begged. "I swear I'll go back down as soon as I find a restroom." The guard relented and pointed down the hallway.

"It's around the corner and down the hall. There's another elevator there that you can use," he explained. "Don't make me come after you. You're not supposed to be here."

"You are an absolute life-saver!" Claire thanked with genuine relief as she sprinted for the bathroom. Once safely inside she located the air vent and pulled the screws free to slip inside. She repositioned the vent and jammed it into place with a sharp tug. There were some advantages to being infected, and she was getting better at exerted small shows of inhuman force. She smiled to herself and settled down to wait for night when most employees would go home. She had done it. She was in the research section of the building. Once it was safe to venture out, she'd have several hours to investigate.

A woman entered the bathroom and Claire couldn't help but eavesdrop on her loud phone conversation. She personally thought it rather strange to be talking while on the toilet, but at least it gave her a distraction.

"Yes," the woman sighed. "I know that Mr. Lance is a busy man, but please tell him that he can't ask for reports that we don't have ready yet. Seal them? Why? No, it's no problem. Okay. Yes, just please tell him. Bye." Claire wondered if Mr. Lance was an important figure at Exaction.


	7. Chapter 7: Big Trouble

Hey everyone! I want to give you the notification that I have some traveling to do this week for Christmas, so I may not update for several days. I won't keep you waiting too long though. I love writing this story!

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Chapter 7: Big Trouble

_What r u doing?_

"Lying in an air vent."

_You've got to be joking._

"Nope—my new job with Terrasave." Claire's fingers moved over the keys as she silently stretched in the tiny air vent. She was sick of listening to toilets flush, but there was nothing to be done about it.

"How's Jill?" Claire asked.

_Unknown. She's working on something. Little communication_. Claire heard the door below her open for the umpteenth time and rolled her eyes. It had been seven hours and she couldn't wait to escape her hiding place.

_Training is finished. I'm moving. Keep out of trouble_.

"Yes, sir." Claire ended the texting session and checked the time on her phone. It was already 9:30, but she decided to wait a while longer to let any late workers clear the premises. She would have enough to worry about with the security guards let alone some casual night owls. Her phone began vibrating and she quickly aborted the call and checked the caller. This made it the seventh time that Ethan had called, but Claire couldn't answer. He'd have to suffice with her texted instructions to wait for her, and he eventually sent her a message with the location of the hotel where he was staying.

Claire literally watched the minutes go by at a snail's pace on her phone. If she were Wesker, she'd have marched into the building and killed anyone in her way, and while she hated the idea of callously disposing of life, she understood how appealing the time efficiency in such a plan was. 9:41. She let her head fall to the floor and closed her eyes to relax. Soon it would be time for action, but until then she found herself thinking about her new job. The fact that she was in a vent told her that the work would continue to be as productive and engaging as she made it, and with her inclination to take on the difficult, it was bound to maintain its worth. She gently rolled onto her back to change positions.

Her abilities would be useful in subtle applications, and the spirit of Terrasave's workers impressed her. That brought her to Ethan, her new partner. They'd been together for four days now, and she enjoyed spending time with the attractive man. He was funny, bold, and social, stylish, smart, and confiding. Claire smiled sadly as she imagined him, for he was just the type of guy that she would have pictured herself with before Raccoon City. Unfortunately, his many qualities meant heartbreak if not joined by resourcefulness and the ability to kill. She couldn't see Ethan killing someone, but, she reminded herself, she probably wouldn't have seen that ability in herself once either.

_The type of guy I might once have gone after. But not anymore_? He would be a loving father, she was sure, but could he handle inhuman children? Claire didn't know why she was asking herself these things, for she wasn't about to chase after a relationship. She didn't even feel inclined to go on a single date with Ethan, but he was so normal and removed from her in experiences that Claire found him an interesting reference point. She huffed disdainfully at herself. _Okay, so I'm using him as a comparison to Wesker. What I once could have had verses what I got myself into_. What she couldn't decide was which one was more appealing as a general concept. She was no longer sure what she wanted, for she realized how easily and gladly she had used her powers to get into the vent and how consumed she was by fighting biohazards. It had become her life. Did she want to return to normal anymore, even if it wasn't impossible? Wesker had so accurately pointed out that she was actively rejecting the option.

_Snap out of it, Claire_. It was 10:00 and the lights suddenly shut off with a resounding click, leaving Claire in pitch-blackness. She pushed the vent covering free and gratefully hopped down to the floor. Her boots quietly clicked over the tiles as she cracked open the door. The hallway was empty and dimly illuminated by the few remaining lights. There weren't even any guards, much to her relief. She stepped out of the bathroom and kept close to the wall as she swiftly jogged forward. Her ears picked up the sounds of a shifting guard ahead, around the corner, and she quickly ducked into a side passage to avoid him. With no other noises to distract her, it was too easy to skirt enemies.

She passed several labs, but what she wanted was the head researcher's office, where files might be compiled. It took her two hours and three flights of stairs to finally locate what she thought might be it given the office's comparably large size and expensive furnishings. The door was mere wood, and Claire smiled at the ease of her job. She grabbed the doorknob and slammed her weight into the frame, easily breaking the lock and sending the door swinging inward. She pushed it to remain shut as she ventured toward a desk and filing cabinets.

Her feet crossed to the filing cabinet first, but, as she walked beyond the desk, she triggered a small, black motion-detector attached to the base of the wall. It was so minute that she hadn't noticed it, but there were about ten in the room, and she was setting them off one after the other.

She removed the knife from her belt and jammed it into the filing cabinet's lock and then twisted, forcing the latch to open in a sharp whining of metal. She sorted the files as her eyes flashed over subject headings. The largest project appeared to be a medicinal test entitled 'Faith'. She laid the thick file open on the desk, turned on the desk's lamp, and pulled out her second tool of the night: a digital camera. With rapid efficiency, she photographed page after page, especially in a subsection on test results that listed the names of the people involved in the tests and their response to the experimental drug.

Claire heard a noise in the hallway, replaced the files and turned off the lamp, and then crouched behind the desk in the darkness. Her camera was tucked away, as was her knife as she strained her ears. She could have sworn that she'd heard the elevator chime as it opened, but now there was nothing. No, she corrected herself. Several people were moving toward the office that she was in, but she couldn't tell how many. Claire barely glanced upward so that the security camera wouldn't catch her face as she located the black lens. It was directly above the door with a wide view of the entire room. _Damn it_. They knew that she was in here for certain. She thanked her commonsense for having made her pull her hair into a tight bun rather than leave it in a ponytail, for it would keep the length of her hair hidden from Exaction's future reference.

The door was pushed open and in slinked a man that Claire wouldn't have expected. She was waiting for an armed security guard—not a suited man without an apparent weapon. He crossed his arms and scanned the room as Claire debated whether to fight or flee. Fleeing would be the wisest, she decided, for if she were caught, Terrasave would be under investigation for their methods. Consideration for appearing perfectly legal and peaceful for her superiors and enemies was the drawback of working for an NGO. Her identity had to remain secret when she chose to bend and break the rules.

"You can come out now and make this easier on yourself," the man in the doorway suggested with a slight German accent. Claire decided to pretend that the game was up and stood with her hands raised. "Take her," the man dismissed. Two more men, these ones clearly security with their drawn guns, approached Claire and went to pulled her hands behind her back. She took her opportunity and swung a fist into one man's gut, doubling him over.

"Hey!" But the other guard was silenced with a punch to the jaw that had him on the floor with his partner. A soft metallic sound made Claire's attention shift to find that the suited gentleman had slid a switchblade out of his sleeve. He lunged at her throat for a deathblow, and Claire was amazed by his speed and precision. Her viral body allowed her to instinctively grabbed the wrist of the knife-wielding hand, and she made him drop the blade with a sharp twist. Something flashed in his other hand, and Claire realized with panic that he had somehow opened another knife. She had no idea where it had come from, and the blade was flying toward her jugular. It didn't matter that she couldn't die; Claire didn't want her skin sliced open. She frantically jerked backward and tumbled to the floor with the man following after her since his wrist was still in her hand.

_Don't bleed_, Claire's panicked mind screamed. If these scientists got a sample of her blood to test for her identity, they'd discover that she wasn't human. She couldn't let that happen, and so she held the man's hand suspended over her head as he tried to free it. Claire unconsciously noted how green his eyes were, and they were planted in such a boyish face that would have looked innocent had it not been contorted in concentrated malice. Claire's muscles tightened in a manner now familiar to her as those green eyes glinted menacingly at her fallen form. She pulled her legs to her chest and kicked upward, throwing the man backward with incredible ease. Her sunglasses were hastily thrown over her amber eyes as she sprinted from the room, moving at a speed that she considered not too-overwhelming questionable.

She reached an intersection and glanced behind her. Something was moving along the edge of the hallway. _Shit_. She peered closely and realized that it was the suited man, but he was unnaturally calm, and she couldn't understand why. He was strolling in her direction, hands in his pockets, and looking for the entire world like he hadn't just been kicked in the chest by a superhuman. Claire had to admit that his easy gait unnerved her. Wesker had affected her the same way early in her captivity, when he'd casually walk toward her with a threatening air. It was the intentional pose of a predator.

And then the creepiness level shot chills down her spine.

The man began whistling. And it sounded like a carnival tune. Claire didn't recognize the chipper song, but she knew that his toying manner and confidence was bad news. She continued to sprint ahead and cast another, fleeting look over her shoulder. The hallway was empty. Her adrenaline level shot through the roof, and intuition told her to be very careful lest she end up stuck on a knife. If she was lucky, the strange man had only gone for backup.

She entered a side room and found herself in a large area packed with cubicles and lined with gigantic windows. Unlike the hallways, this room was without lights but manageable due to faint illumination from outside. She crouched below the flimsy walls and jogged forward, unseen in the darkness and planning on taking a window exit. By now the bottom floor would be alerted to a security breach, so she couldn't simply walk out. Because there was no alarm, she wondered how long they had been watching her before attacking.

She was so close to the window that she stood a little taller and picked up the pace. She was nearing an opening in the cubicle walkways when the corner of her eye caught movement. She immediately fell into a crouch and peered down the pathway. She couldn't hear or see anything, and that bothered her immensely. She'd need to rely on another sense, and so she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Carpet cleaner, someone's forgotten sandwich…she leaned into the hall and inhaled as deeply as she could. Cologne. Fresh cologne. Her muscles tensed and she scanned the area.

That freak was in here with her.

Her heart rate lowered and her eyes narrowed as a sense of danger enclosed her. Rather than go toward the windows, she began creeping down the cubicles toward the smell. She was halfway there when logic overrode the power and hunger in her body. _This is insane! Get out of here now!_ Her body slowed and her head tilted forward in an animalistic fashion to taste the air one more time. Whoever was here was trying to circle around her back.

_Creak_. There, he was definitely moving around her right side with speed. He would be no match for her, and the danger would be gone if she could just get her hands around his throat. No, the danger would disappear if she escaped just as well as if she had killed him. With willpower she tore herself away from the idea and went to the closest window. There was no latch. These windows were not designed to open.

Another whiff of cologne hit her nose. Damn, but could he really get that close so fast with barely a sound? This man was of a different caliber than the people who were usually trying to kill her. She had been more comfortably stalked by lickers. She had to act. This man was getting closer to her with each second.

She stood to her full height and punched her hand window through the glass, kicking out the remaining shards as her stalker stood from his hiding place and charged, but Claire was already outside, running on the thin, stone ledge beneath the windows. This would get her nowhere, she realized. With hands gripped on the stone, she lowered herself over the edge and dangled a moment in trepidation. _Just do it; you're strong enough_. Her fingers released the ledge and she dropped to the next level, where she caught the stone and readied herself to drop again. There were definitely advantages to being infected, and she was coming to have more confidence in her abilities.

Her boots hit the sidewalk, and she stood, relieved and happy with her performance. She counted herself lucky that no one had seen her descent in the dark, but that man had gotten a decent look at her face. For a few seconds and in the dark, Claire reminded herself, thinking that she would get away from this without compromising her identity. She wasted no time in running a short distance and hailing a cab to join Ethan. She had no idea who that person at Exaction had been, but she prayed that she never met the disturbing personage again.

**************

"You let her get away?" Michael Lance demanded, disbelieving. The tall, slender man before him didn't even flinched as he stood at attention. "How the hell did a little girl get away from you?" Johann Mauler rolled his shoulders once to work out the kinks. Damn but that woman could do damage. He had not expected such a strong kick. It had literally knocked the air out of him, and now he was sore.

"She was a professional, not some girl," Johann corrected his employer. It stung to be accused of letting an amateur get the better of him. People did not get the better of him. "You should have seen her escape down the side of the building. She's definitely well-trained." He had been impressed by her ability to scale the building—not that he hadn't seen that done before. He had used window ledges to his advantage once or twice, but she had made it look effortless strength wise. She seemed abnormally powerful, but the best agents never looked as good as they were.

"So someone's targeting us," Michael quietly fumed. He was dangerous when angry, and it annoyed him that Johann could look so relaxed given what had just happened. He had no idea that Johann was contemplated ways to kill the woman who had shamed him. If this smirched his reputation, she would pay dearly. "Where's the footage?" Michael demanded, growing steadier as he puffed on a cigar. He had to appear in control before his subordinates, and he knew that Johann would make up for his failure. He only hired the best, after all.

With a few clicks he had the security program opened on his computer and was watching a strange woman steal their research. She was not dressed like a professional, but one could never tell with their sort. He looked at Johann. No, you could never tell. His eyes shifted back to the camera footage and he watched the woman with interest. Something about her seemed familiar.

"Do you not see, Mr. Lance?" Johann asked, and Michael gave him a warning glare for his inappropriately amused tone. The agent was behind his shoulder now, watching the footage with him. "I got a close look at her face, and we have seen this woman before." The pieces clicked together.

"I see…" Michael murmured. "Our mystery woman. With her skills she must be a valuable asset to our friend, Mr. Wesker. If this is his doing…" Michael let the threat hang and pivoted to level a stare at Johann. The thought that Wesker had dared send someone to his doorstep to gain information almost sent him over the top. The board would hear about this once he had evidence, and then Wesker would be executed like he deserved. "She must still be in the city, Herr. Mauler. I don't care what you have to do; find her."

"I already have someone tailing her," Johann assured. He had called downstairs to have a ground-level guard follow her and get the tag of her taxi. "I'll handle it with pleasure," he grimly smiled. He never lost twice.


	8. Chapter 8: The Wrong Companions

Have a Merry Christmas everyone! Thanks, reviewers and readers. The plot is thickening.

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Chapter 8: The Wrong Companions

Ethan yanked open the hotel door as soon as he heard the knock. It was two in the morning, and he'd been pacing in worry since nine. But here Claire was, disheveled but whole, standing in the doorway with sunglasses on. Even given his concern, Ethan couldn't help but note how strange that was.

"Claire, thank god!" he exclaimed as he pulled her inside. "I thought that maybe you'd been hurt. Where have you been?" Claire flopped onto the closest bed and pulled off her sunglasses since she was sure that the amber had receded by now. She'd had a twenty-minute drive to cool down from her fight.

"I'm sorry that I made you worry. I got into some trouble with the security guards," she explained, "And I thought it best to lay low for a while instead of taking the risk of being followed." Ethan was at her side, his soft brown eyes scanning her body with concern.

"Are you okay? Did you get hurt?" he asked. Claire smiled sweetly at his caring nature and shook her head.

"I'm fine, just tired."

"Good. Now please tell me why someone might chase you before I kick you for scaring the crap out of me." Claire smiled and handed him her camera. "What's this?"

"It has photos of Exaction's main research files," Claire proudly stated, but Ethan looked horrified.

"Oh my gosh! Claire, this could be considered industrial sabotage!" His face was suddenly stern, but Claire maintained her confident posture. "If word gets out that Terrasave was involved in this, we could lose everything. Every court order in our favor could be questioned and dismissed if it's found that we used stolen evidence." He began pacing again, but his hand was wrapped protectively over the camera.

"Ethan," Claire said. "Sometimes the bad guys can't be beaten by playing by the rules. What did you find today?"

"Nothing," Ethan admitted. Claire had a point, and he supposed that this was no different than paying people for information, which he had done before. His wavy hair hid his expression from Claire as he thought about the camera in his possession. Slowly, his chest began to twitch and laughter finally rumbled out of his mouth. Claire loved how deep and infectious his laughter was.

"Claire, I have no idea how you managed to do this," he smiled. "Good lord, you must have training that you didn't mention." He tossed the camera in the air and caught it with a wink. "Okay, I overreacted a little, but this is serious business. No one hears about this, and I won't turn you in, deal? Both of our hides will be tanned if word gets out."

"You got it, partner," Claire joked. "Now let me get some sleep. We should get back to HQ as early as possible tomorrow." She flopped backwards on the bed and closed her eyes while Ethan admired her relaxed form. She was an attractive woman, and apparently quite the interesting infiltrator. He had never gotten the chance to work with anyone like her before, and this more daring approach to work was exactly what he had always wanted. He smiled and set the camera aside. He hoped that he and Claire got to know each other much better.

*************

Wesker stood on the walkway overlooking the scientists at work below. They stood by in their white suits while armed men escorted a large, metal cage onto an elevator platform. The cage was solid but for a few slits where steamy breath blew out toward the humans that the creature inside could smell. The scientists kept their distance for a reason. Every precaution was being taken in transporting the dangerous mutation to the lower labs for more testing. Wesker had high hopes for harvesting viral material from its deformed bulk, but he'd leave that work to Excella's employees.

He leaned against the railing and considered the work ahead with anticipation, for he was leaving for the Agency tomorrow. He'd collect the data on whatever they had accomplished with their viruses in the last few months, and then he'd leave them without a word. The job would be short and simple, and he might have sent Ada to handle the task if he didn't completely distrust what she would do with the retrieved data. He titled his head. The light clicking and measured steps approaching his back alerted him of Excella's presence before she spoke.

"Are you finding everything satisfactory, Dr. Wesker?" she purred with her smooth, accented voice. She was standing beside him, eyeing the activity below with interest through her long lashes. "Things are going beautifully, no?"

"Yes, and let's keep it that way," Wesker replied. She turned to face him, hip resting against the railing. She was quite a stunning woman, with both beauty and brains, and she was well aware of her many attributes. One hand lifted to gracefully brush long, dark hair over her shoulder and remained to toy with the golden necklace around her slender throat. The way she calculatingly eyed her companion…Wesker recognized a fellow schemer when he saw one, and this woman undoubtedly excelled at manipulation and efficiency as much as he did. It was why he had chosen to team up with her.

"I hope that you fired those foolish guards from the other day," Wesker commented, and Excella's lips tugged upward into a less-than-genuine smile.

"Ah, Wesker, all guards like them will be replaced in good time," she said with a sly undertone, and her eyes wandered meaningfully toward the crate. "Research opens up new opportunities every day. But you are leaving us at a most fascinating juncture," she said, drawing closer. "I do wish that you'd stay. The accommodations here are no doubt suitable. They could be made cozier, if you desire it," and with that she lighting brushed his shoulders as she walked around him to stroll further down the walkway. She frequently relied on subtle gestures and suggestions to say what she wished, and it worked well for her style of command. Wesker understood her implications easily enough, but there were times that her game of laying breadcrumbs grew old.

"We will be in touch, Miss Giovanni," Wesker simply stated as his eyes trailed over her sauntering body in its firmly fitting dress.

"You disappoint me," she replied. "Do give my suggestion some consideration. It might offend the hostess to have her guest leave so soon."

"But the guest will return bearing presents," Wesker said and Excella smiled. "I will be back before the final preparations, and I assure you that the accommodations have been most pleasing." But he didn't trust her cunning nature beyond the alignment of their interests.

"As you say," she dismissed and continued walking. "Have a good trip, Wesker." Once she had left, Wesker returned to his quarters and flipped open his laptop. A map immediately appeared and Wesker wondered what Claire was doing in Dallas. He smiled and sat down when he realized that she was online. She had mentioned wanting to talk to him again, and he wasn't adverse to the suggestion given that his work here was finished for the time being. He had to admit that after spending weeks with people who either cowered before him or eyed him with self-interest, he would appreciate some of Claire's candor.

There were times that he missed having her around, and the self-awareness of that feeling made him examine the fondness that existed between them and how it had grown. He had intended to affect Claire—not the other way around—but the situation had not gone as planned. He decided that wanting to spend time with someone was permissible so long as it didn't become a weakness. He could rid himself of his predilection for Claire when he wished, but he didn't particularly desire to do so since their relationship didn't affect his work. He was about to begin typing when Claire beat him to the punch.

****************

_Her hands tried to stop the blood flow, but it was of no use. The redness was drenching Wesker's black shirt, and Claire ripped the fabric off to bind the gunshot wound beneath it. His once perfect chest rose and fell irregularly as Claire futilely worked. _

_"Albert!" she said, pulling off his sunglasses to expose red eyes that were drooping shut. "Come on; stay with me!" Chris was in the background, begging her to come with him and abandon Wesker. "Chris, I can't!" _

_"Why not?" Claire choked on her words and opted for silence as she positioned Wesker's head on her lap and stroked his hair. He watched her as his face contorted in pain, and Claire's tears fell onto his cheeks. "Claire, I'm leaving. Don't bother coming after me." Claire cried harder. She was losing both of them._

_"Albert, please don't die," she begged once Chris was gone. Wesker's fingers wrapped around her hand as his eyes closed. _

_"Claire…" Don't leave me alone. _

Claire's eyes snapped open and she found herself hugging a pillow in a death grip while softly crying into the fabric. The hotel room was dark and she lay still to let the dream fade into nothingness. The tears eventually slowed and her aching heart returned to its normal rhythm. She heard Ethan breathing deeply in sleep in the other bed, and she kept her back toward him. She knew that her eyes would be flaming gold after such an intense dream, and only time would fix it. At least Ethan was asleep, but it _was_ only four in the morning, and now Claire had hours to kill as she waited for her partner to get up. She tossed her pillow aside and pulled out her laptop.

Being in a hotel room made her think of Wesker pulling off her shirt and then unzipping her pants as she stood and gave him free access. His hands on her skin, so gentle but strong, and how he directed her toward the bed and told her what to do without speaking...She shook her head and logged onto messenger to see if Chris was up for a chatting section. When she saw that unknown111 was online, she excitedly clicked on the name and typed 'good morning'.

_Good Morning, dear heart. Still not sleeping?_

"Nightmares"

_Of?_

"Losing people I care about."

_Chris. _

"And another." When he didn't type anything in response, Claire found her phone and held it questioningly in her hand, considering what she was about to do. "Call me," she typed, the words followed her new phone number. She waited for the phone to light up, but nothing happened. She was concerned that Wesker might ignore her request when a vibration shot through her hand. She flipped the phone open and held it to her ear as she shut herself in the bathroom.

"Hello?" Claire asked, sitting on the edge of the bathtub.

"Dear heart, you just gave your number to a murderer," Wesker teased.

"Albert Wesker, it's been a while since I've heard your arrogant voice," Claire said, smiling despite the underlying seriousness of his comment. "I almost forgot how baiting you can be." She could sense Wesker smirking.

"I can hang up, if you'd prefer," he suggested.

"No. That's not what I meant…" Claire's face grew solemn as she moved to sit on the floor and lean against the wall. "Albert, how do I know that you're not just calling to string me along until you get your chance to use me in whatever your plan is?"

"I've nothing to reassure you, Claire, but you can trust me when I say that it's pleasant to hear your honest concern for my opinion of you." _I bet_, Claire thought. It probably reassured him that she was still under his influence. "Dear heart, stop overanalyzing. I called to speak with you, not to manipulate."

"And I believe you. Matthews mentioned that you appreciate a good conversation," Claire offhandedly commented. "You just didn't have many people to talk to. I guess you have even fewer since you joined Umbrella."

"What he told you applied years ago, Claire," Wesker cautioned. "Drawing parallels to today is illogical, but, as it happens, I do enjoy speaking with you."

"So what shall we talk about, Albert?" Claire sighed. "How's your plotting going? Have you infected any more innocent people or destroyed any rivals lately?" Wesker chuckled.

"Things are moving at a satisfactory pace," Wesker commented.

"I'm sorry to say that I can't be happy for you."

"Naturally," Wesker said understandingly. There was a long pause.

"Albert," Claire finally said. "I miss you."

"I know." Claire could not know that Wesker hadn't heard those words directed toward him since he was a child. Only Claire would ever miss a man like him. "How is the new job?"

"Legal, but I like it."

"Limiting, in other words," Wesker sneered. "I can think of a more suitable and challenging position for you, if you'd only take it."

"No thank you," Claire said, resting her chin on her knee. "Where are you?"

"You know that I can't tell you that with the decision you've made." Claire hadn't expected more. "Do you regret leaving?" There was a difference between missing someone and regretting actions, and Wesker wanted to know how far Claire's feelings for him had affected her thinking.

"In some ways I do," Claire admitted. "You know that I care about you, and part of me wanted to stay; but it's not the job that interests me, and it never has been…It's not even that I don't trust you, Albert, because I think that you were being honest when you told me where I stand in your world, but…I still worry about your goals and what you'll do to reach them; and I don't want to be the inhuman woman who can do any job in your game."

"And do you know what you'd like to be?" Wesker asked, perfectly serious.

"I'm still thinking about it. Mostly I know what I want to do, not what I want to be, and sometimes I don't think that I have much control over the second one." _Claire, what the hell are you doing confiding in him like this?_ But he was the only one who knew her secrets, and she'd been without someone to openly talk to for months.

"You might be surprised, dear heart," Wesker told her. "I'm not impartial to your desires and influence."

"Albert, are you saying that I influence you?" Claire sarcastically teased.

"No one is without influence, Claire. I did not get where I am by overlooking the people around me." He paused and Claire could tell that he was thinking of what to say. "Do you truly doubt your influence, dear heart? You're behavior and decisions have changed aspects of my decisions before."

"You always leave me with enough truth and personal admissions to keep my hope alive," Claire bitterly laughed while wondering what it was that she was hoping for. "But thank you for the comment. Yes, I know that I affect your nonprofessional life, but it's you: Albert Wesker. The professional is almost your entire life."

"Not always, Claire, and you've been invited to the other part." Again with a long pause, and she heard Ethan stirring outside. He was calling her name and suddenly knocking on the bathroom door.

"Claire, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm just on the phone. I'm fine," Claire called back, and for a moment it was like talking to Chris.

"Okay. Do you want some breakfast?"

"Can you get me some coffee? Thanks."

"You have company at the hotel room?" Wesker asked.

"He's perfectly well-behaved," Claire quickly commented. "We're working together, and there's nothing more to it than that." Wesker chuckled.

"You sound like you're trying to appease a jealous lover," he said with amusement. "I am not jealous, dear heart. That would imply that I'm in competition with your new partner." Claire fumbled over her words, revealing more than she intended to Wesker. With her comment she had shown him that she considered herself his, and it made Wesker smirk with satisfaction.

"Yes, well…" Claire said, regaining her thoughts. "I don't want you to think that I jump from man to man."

"It never crossed my mind," Wesker taunted, but he knew that Claire took her emotions and relationships too seriously to act flippantly with men. "What are you and your partner doing in Dallas?"

"We're investigating a company, but I'm not at liberty to discuss it." Wesker was already looking at a list of bio-companies stationed in Dallas, and his eyes honed in on one particular name on his computer screen: Exaction.

"And were you by chance using illegal methods, dear heart?" he demandingly asked. Claire did not understand his sudden, low tone. "I do hope that you kept your head down like I warned you."

"Albert, do you know something that I don't?" Claire questioned. "What company do you think I went after that would be dangerous?" If Wesker had concerns, she knew that she was in trouble.

"The name of the company, Miss Redfield," Wesker ordered.

"I was careful, Wesker," Claire tried to dismiss. She did not want to tell Wesker whom Terrasave was going after lest he be involved with the targeted company, but Wesker already had his answer. His red eyes flashed across his computer screen to his personal line with the Agency's board. There was a warning posted that the company had experienced a recent theft and that the other facilities should bolster security. Michael Lance personally handled Exaction, and Wesker knew that the chairman's personal dog was a vicious one when it came to executions. Damn. Claire was still in a hotel in Dallas.

"Claire, I suggest that you leave the hotel now," Wesker ordered without room for argument. Claire was already standing and running out of the bathroom, knowing that he was instructing her for a reason, but she hated not knowing the reason.

"Albert…"

"_Now_, Miss Redfield." Claire closed the phone and pocketed it while pulling on her boots. Ethan was stepping into the room with a hot cup of coffee and a glazed donut when Claire's frantic hoisting of her backpack halted his entrance.

"Claire, what are you doing?" he asked. Claire whipped a handgun out of her bag as she grabbed the camera. "Whoa!" Ethan said, setting the food aside. "Claire, what the hell is going on?"

"We have to leave," Claire stated. She grabbed his small traveling bag from the floor and tossed it at him.

"But why? Is someone after us?" Ethan slung his bag over his shoulder and pulled out his car keys.

"I think so," Claire said. "And learning the hard might mean a bullet to the head. Come on; let's go." The two were outside and throwing their belongings into the car in a flash.

"Strap your seatbelt," Ethan ordered as he started the engine. "And pray that we don't get a speeding ticket," he added. They were quickly driving into the distance, and Ethan was jittery with excitement. He had never been in a truly dangerous situation before. "Claire," he said. "I think you should put the gun away. It might look bad if we're pulled over." Claire nodded and concealed the gun in her backpack. It was obvious that Ethan wasn't used to death threats, but she thought that he was handling it well. He was maintaining his calm and even attempting jokes to lighten the mood.

"Are you okay?" she asked him.

"Peachy, Claire. You stole from a company and now you're telling me that they might kill us. Oh, and I didn't get to eat my donut. I'm just wonderful," but he cast her a large, forced smile. "We're in deep shit aren't we?"

"My first guess would be yes."

Fifteen minutes after they'd left the hotel, a green-eyed brunette stood in their former room with a knife in his hand. His target was gone, but he searched the room from top to bottom. He found a forgotten business shirt hung on the back of the bathroom door and removed it. A small card was tucked into the front pocket, and he grinned at his find as he twirled it between his fingers: _Ethan Vanderbilt, Terrasave. _


	9. Chapter 9: The Agency

I'm back from the holidays. I hope that everyone had an excellent Christmas, and here is the next chapter. Thanks for the reviews.

________________

Chapter 9: The Agency

Wesker entered his access number and stepped into the Agency's headquarters, where their research was compiled and encoded into protective files and briefs for other scientists. His tall, dark figure moved among the well-dressed employees as he bypassed the front desk and made his way for the technology center. His boots echoed over the tiled floors and his red eyes constantly scanned the halls and rooms to locate the video cameras and occupants. He might be an influential member of the Agency, but he was not on friendly terms with the Board of Directors. Ada Wong had ensured that he was doubly suspected for ulterior motives, but now the hassle only made Wesker smirk. Soon the board would find itself taking his directives, not the other way around.

He located the office of his favorite inside worker and entered unannounced. The eyes of the man behind the desk widened in surprise amid the glow of several computer screens at Wesker's entrance. The slightly heavy, computer genius stared at Wesker but made no other movement, as if frozen, but his fingers were clearly inching toward the emergency alarm switch hidden beneath the rim of his desk.

"I would not advise that," Wesker coldly stated. "Security won't instantly appear to save you." The man pulled his hand back as if stung and nervously folded his hand atop his desk.

"What do you want?" he sharply asked, and Wesker raised an eyebrow at his tone. "I mean, you haven't needed anything in years. What could you possibly need now?" Wesker walked forward until he was directly in front of the desk, looking down his nose at the man.

"I need you to make a copy of the final research from every lab, and I'm not leaving until I have it." The man grudgingly turned to his computer and began typing. With a rigid jaw, he refused to look at Wesker, and he had good reason to hate the tyrant, for Wesker dangled the possibility of his wife's murder over his head. It would be too easy for Wesker to have her executed, and the husband judged Wesker as a man who did not toss about empty threats. This place was filled with sharks. Still, he couldn't resist a small show of defiance…

"Why don't you just use your security pass to access the data yourself?" he asked, and felt unspoken danger emitting from Wesker. The blond man, so impeccably sharp and handsome, did not appreciate the attempt of his prey at playing his equal, and the matter was quickly dropped in the tense atmosphere. Of course it would have been faster to use his ID, but the company tracked who was accessing what, and with his reputation, the move would have sent up a red flag. Using a skilled hacker was the cleaner approach.

Wesker let his eyes wander the room in boredom while his unwilling accomplice worked, but he was aware of a sudden stiffening of the man's muscles. He watched questioningly as the man riveted himself to the computer screen and almost inaudibly caught his breath.

"Is there a problem?" Wesker asked.

"No…" the man quickly assured, but his agitated mannerisms were giving him away. He cautiously turned toward Wesker. "You won't kill my wife if your Agency position goes sour, will you?" he anxiously asked. "Whatever is going on with the board, I'm not involved, and I swear that I haven't talked to anyone, and I won't."

"What makes you think that I'm in trouble?" Wesker asked with interest. The man hesitated. "If you haven't informed against me, you and your wife have nothing to fear," he smoothly added, and the man sighed in relief.

"Your ID has been marked for tracing, and the system has instructions to relay your known location to the Agency's police force."

"What?" Wesker sharply demanded. The computer screen was turned so that he could see it, and his hands slowly curled into fists as he read. He was marked for immediate detention. "Can you find out why I'm marked?"

"Let me see…" The man busily typed as the research files continued to be transferred and copied. Wesker still had to look over the research and retrieve any promising samples, but his chances of quickly accomplishing that task were tarnished by this latest development. He could not imagine why he would be marked for detention unless some damning piece of evidence had been found against him. His mind ran over Ada and other agents with whom he had worked. There were multiple sources that could have potentially put him in this position.

"You've been marked under the orders of Michael Lance," the computer hacker told him. "He filed a report on you yesterday. It says that you're suspected of sabotaging his branch of the Agency. An independent agent was caught breaking into an Exaction facility, and she's somehow been connected back to you. Here." The computer screen was again turned and Wesker's eyes immediately met with the photograph of a young woman wearing all black. It was Claire from the job that they'd done together at the governmental labs months ago.

Wesker's mind was flying. They would go after Claire. He'd known that after she'd broken into Exaction, but he hadn't been expecting any link between the two of them to be made. He was grateful to see that Lance didn't have Claire's name, and he had been monitoring her movements for the last four days since her foray into detective work. She was distancing herself from Exaction at a distant pace, and with the lack of a name, she had bought herself some time if not a complete safety pass from Lance's wrath. Wesker would not be so lucky. Damn it, but Claire had inadvertently complicated his current task.

And the Agency could not, would not, get their hands on Claire Redfield. She was an amazing specimen and they would experiment on her in ways that Claire could not fathom. Her capture would also mean the Agency acquiring a virus that Wesker had never shared with anyone, and Claire would suffer and most likely meet a tortuous end, ruining Wesker's plans for her. He briefly considered that such a horrible, but shortened experience, and him rescuing Claire from the situation, might act as the final push to put her by his side.

_No_.

Wesker turned away from the computer and caught himself. _No? No._ Allowing such an incident to occur was unnecessary, he told himself, and there was no guarantee that it would work. He would not put Claire through being mutilated when there were other ways to accomplish his goals. But, he thought, the resulting statistics from experiments on her would likely be incredible. _There are other ways_. He paused and knew that he was not distantly pragmatic when it came to Claire anymore. Still, allowing her to be so brutally harmed was not the only expedient option. He could still "rescue" her, if she was endangered by Lance.

He envisioned Claire strapped to a table, screaming and writhing, and knew that the Agency would do the same thing to him if he were found out. He was not a man to empathize, but if he were treated like that, he suspected that Claire would not leave him to such a fate by choice, even if it meant risking her brother's life. Wesker was not Claire, but he could appreciate her tenderness and trust for him. No, he would not allow the Agency to grab her. Helping her fit into his plans anyway, and even a small collection of data from her by the Agency would have potentially disastrous consequences.

_And she'd be in your possession again—a chance to do the convincing that she denied you months ago._ The idea of having her again was compelling.

"Destroy the file," Wesker told his assistant. The man stared at him in confused disbelief.

"What do you mean? Like on the entire system? So no one can retrieve it?"

"Precisely."

"Are you crazy? I'd have to hack into the mainframe's security and, and, and, target a virus on this file or something, because deleting these things is a hell of a lot more difficult than stealing them. The system automatically backs everything up."

"I don't care how it's done," Wesker emphasized. "But it will be done." His tone denied the man any attempt to object as he began working.

"Here's your copy," he said as he passed a small, plastic drive to Wesker. "The rest of this is going to take a while…" Much to the man's consternation, Wesker appeared perfectly intent to wait. He stood and barely moved for two hours before the task was completed. "The file's gone. Everything's gone. There isn't even a photo of the woman anymore, but Michael Lance will have a personally copy that I can't access."

"You have been most helpful," Wesker stated as he walked for the door. "Say hello to your wife for me."

"You…!" The door shut behind him and Wesker quickly moved for the exit. Security was searching for him, but the few guards that he encountered were quickly dispatched with sharp punches and kicks. There would be no peaceful return to collect Agency samples, and brushing the issue aside might be for the best. After all, he did have their data, and Excella's scientists could replicate almost anything from their own viral collection. That settled, he calculated his next move.

He needed to pay HCF a visit to destroy any files on Claire and then he'd find Mr. Lance's office to destroy personal copies of information. Perhaps Miss Redfield deserved a visit too. He would not mind seeing her.


	10. Chapter 10: Maybe Not

Chapter 10: Maybe Not

Johann Mauler sat in his car and scanned the papers that he was resting against the steering wheel. His boss had excellent informants and resources, and so it had taken little time to learn about Ethan Vanderbilt and his new partner, Claire Redfield. Johann and Lance were both surprised by the obscure background of Claire Redfield. She survived the Raccoon City incident, but she had been a student before that. There was no incriminating evidence on her and certainly no signs of operative activities. For the most part, she was a mystery, especially since her location was unaccounted for during long stretches of time.

And why was one of Wesker's lackeys working for an organization like Terrasave? The group had its small victories, but it was hardly a large enough threat to draw Wesker's attention—or rather, it hadn't been a large threat until now. Stolen research was no laughing matter. Maybe Wesker was trying to cover his tracks, but Ethan was obviously inexperienced and had left identification. What the hell was going on here?

It didn't matter. None of it mattered, because Johann was going to clean up this mess before it got any larger. Tracking Ethan's credit card was incredibly easy, and now Johann was sitting alongside of the highway that the two thieves were driving on, waiting for the license plate number that he sought to pass. He didn't need to wait long.

************

Claire was relaxed behind the steering wheel, and Ethan admired how calm she was able to act given their circumstances. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she had those sunglasses on alongside of her khaki shorts and pink t-shirt. He had been watching her for the last few days, and closely at that, even when she didn't think that he was looking. She interested him, to say the least.

"Claire?"

"Yeah?"

"I've come to some conclusions, but don't shoot me if I'm totally off." Claire glanced at Ethan with an amused smile that invited him to continue. "Pink is your favorite color." Claire's smile widened, and Ethan congratulated himself on entertaining her. "You dislike having your hair down, although I should tell you that you would look lovely without the ponytail."

"Ethan," Claire lightly laughed.

"No, it's true," he protested. "And, you have amazing energy. You never seem tired, but sometimes you get lost in your own head, like a few minutes ago."

"You're observational skills amaze me," Claire joked. Ethan's face adopted a more somber tone as he continued to look at her comfortable features.

"But you do seem troubled sometimes," he continued, and Claire's smile dropped. "I'm not trying to pry, but it's obvious that you've got some scars, like everyone really. But you handle them well, and it makes me wonder what a girl like you…" Claire glared at him. "What a _woman_ like you, wants out of life, and I don't mean work or Terrasave. I mean, what would you be doing if bio-companies hadn't wrecked your life?"

"I don't know," Claire honestly answered. "What about you?"

"If I'd never learned about places like Exaction the hard way, I think that I'd be a businessman or consultant—something working with people. And I'd like a family with two kids, a dog, a big backyard, etc. It sounds so stereotypical, but I grew up that way and loved it. Not many people can say that, I think, and I'd like my family to have a simple, happy life. You probably think that I'm a complete sap."

"No," Claire assured. "I understand. I used to want to same thing. Maybe I still do, but I'm not so sure anymore. Things can really change over a few short months, but I'd like a family…" The concerned look on her face led the topic to fade into silence. "You'd be really good at the whole family thing," Claire finally said, a bit lighter. She had once envied people like Ethan when she was young and dealing with harsh, adoptive situations, but now she wasn't sure what she was feeling. The image that Ethan had presented was attractive, but Claire couldn't stir up the same yearning that she had once felt anymore. The simple, normal lives of everyday people…she hated dealing with this new dilemma. She didn't know if she was still attached to the image from habit or if it was genuine desire.

"Let's turn in for the night," Ethan suggested. "It's eight, and we've been driving all day. We're almost back to Terrasave anyway." Claire agreed and they pulled into a large hotel beside the highway. Claire paused at the hotel's entrance as she eyed a black car pulling into the parking lot near their vehicle. Hadn't she seen that car throughout the day? It was hard to be sure after hours of driving, for the monotony of the experience had made her frequently lose focus. She waited a moment, but no one stepped out of the black car, and Ethan was calling for her to catch up. It was probably nothing, she decided.

Claire flopped her small bag beside the hotel bed and emptied her pockets of several empty candy wrappers and her cell phone. She ran her fingers over the small screen and wondered when Wesker would call her again. It would have been nice if he'd called to make sure that she'd gotten away from Exaction in one piece, but of course he already knew that from tracking her. She set the phone aside and realized that Ethan was ordering Chinese takeout.

"Extra hot sauce for me," she told him, and he grinned as he complied. Claire let her hair down as she pulled open the window curtains to look down on the black car near theirs. An ominous feeling was edging in on her mind, but maybe it was because black cars carried a negative connotation since companies seemed to favor them. What was with the predilection for black cars? She could still imagine the new, leathery smell of Wesker's cars, but she kept herself from reminiscing and instead set a handgun on the nightstand. Intuition was one of her primary lifesavers, and that meant extra caution tonight. If Wesker knew about Exaction and the danger that it presented to her, than she knew that the company's hands were dirty like Umbrella's, and people like that treated life as utterly disposable.

"Expecting company?" Ethan asked her when he noticed the gun.

"Take this, and don't leave the room unless it's completely necessary," Claire said as she held out her second gun to him. Ethan cautiously took it as Claire told him about the car. He hadn't even noticed it, but he took her word for it.

"You're really used to this sort of thing, aren't you?" Ethan joked with a strained tone. He and Claire were sitting on the edge of his bed. Claire said yes and Ethan fiddled with the safety on his gun. "Can I ask you something personal?" Claire reservedly nodded. "The phone call the other day…" He laughed. "Oh, I sound like a school kid. I'm just curious to know if you have a boyfriend, a special someone, whatever you want to call it."

"There's no boyfriend," Claire said. _But there is a special someone_. She didn't want to talk about Wesker right now. Her relationship with him didn't come within the bounds of what Ethan was referring to, and the unspoken connection that she had with her former captor was something precious that she was not about to expose. She didn't know if she could properly verbalize it, and, if she did try to explain, she had no idea how accurate it would be since she couldn't speak for Wesker with absolute certainty.

"That's good," Ethan said and then laughed. "That didn't sound the way that I wanted it to…" He used his infectious smile to good effect, for he had Claire happily facing him. Maybe her chances for a normal existence weren't completely gone, she thought as she smiled at Ethan's blatant flirtation. He was a good man, like Steve had been. They were both classified as good men trying to right wrongs in a painful world. Steve was gone, but Claire thought that there was something similar to the young man mirrored in Ethan's bright face. Maybe a normal life and a family with a man like either of them was still what she wanted and Wesker had only clouded her judgment. If there were someone in her life to anchor her to the dreams that Umbrella had taken, maybe she would be free from the emotional torment that Wesker had caused. Maybe she could be free to completely align herself with Chris and the others.

"Claire," Ethan was saying. "You're amazing." Claire laughed, and Ethan laid a hand against hers. "I'm being serious. I've never met a woman who'd risk doing to Exaction what you've done." He gave her hand a squeeze and Claire let him. It felt good to be touched again, but she couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt, for her mind kept wandering toward another man, and what if she got Ethan killed? She was dragging her partner into dangerous territory.

"Thanks for the compliments," Claire told Ethan. "And you're an excellent partner, by the way." Ethan leaned closer.

"Really? Because I'm not the one who came with guns." Claire noted his face drawing closer and closed her eyes. Maybe…Ethan wrapped a hand around her waist and pulled her closer until her hip was touching his thigh. Then his other hand gently encircled her as his lips pressed into hers. Claire moved her mouth against his in response, but her heart wrenched. His touch wasn't the same. She missed the complete confidence of Wesker, although Ethan's slight reservation and caution was touching. Claire gently moved her arms around Ethan's neck, but the movement was more automatic than anything else. And then she realized that the name running through her mind as she was touched had nothing to do with her new partner.

Maybe began turning into maybe not, and Claire's eyes began watering without her awareness.

She wanted a family, but she couldn't see the big yard in an average neighborhood. She wanted to enjoy marriage and have stability, safety, but she didn't see finding it in an environment completely removed from biohazard history. What had happened was engrained in her. She couldn't turn her back and live as if those things had never happened. She saw a child, but it was playing in the woods in a secluded valley.

What terrified Claire the most was that she didn't even want to go back. The realization as her lips continued dancing with Ethan's shocked her. She didn't want to go back to a time before Raccoon City. She now had a purpose in her life that was larger than anything that had preceded it, and Wesker was a part of that new life. She didn't want to live like he meant nothing to her. She couldn't. And he had no one else but her. He had helped her, taught her things that she didn't want to forget. Ethan's dream, her former dream, couldn't fit with Wesker.

When had she changed so much without even noticing?

And she was no longer human, but the reality had stopped being repulsive to her; for she had come to terms with her condition, even given some concerns. That had helped changed certain ideals, she decided. Would someone normal like Ethan accept the truth? Claire found that being human no longer seemed important when she considered a certain blond, someone's arms around her.

The tears were running in torrents down her face now, and Ethan pulled way in confused concern.

"Claire, are you okay? I didn't mean to upset you. I…"

"It's okay," Claire said. "I've got a lot of memories, trust me. I'm sorry, Ethan, but I can't do this." Ethan's eyes softened with a hint of embarrassment as he stood and got her some tissues. "You're a good man," Claire said as she took them and wiped her eyes. He _was_ a good man and she couldn't bring herself to want him. The idea tore her heart open, and she wasn't entirely prepared to examine why. Ethan was going to have a wonderful family some day and make some woman feel loved and cherished. They'd live blissfully ignorant of zombies and monsters. It wasn't what was in store for Claire, and she understood that perfectly well.

_And do you know what you'd like to be? I think so, Wesker, but how on earth would it be possible?_

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Two heads turned in unison toward the door, and Claire grabbed her gun as she shook her tears away. Ethan gave her a questioning stare before moving toward the door with his gun and looking through the eyehole.

"Delivery guy," he mouthed to Claire as he hurriedly tucked the gun into his belt, behind his back. Claire relaxed somewhat as he opened the door to reveal a Chinese man with a large, paper bag. "Thanks," Ethan said as he handed the man his money. He didn't notice the stiffness of the man, but Claire did. Her nostrils flared as she inhaled and narrowed her eyes. The deliveryman smelled of sweat and fear. She was already running toward the door, gun raised, when Ethan turned around with the paper bag in hand. A man with familiar, cold, green eyes stepped into the doorway behind him as Ethan casually reached to shut the door.

"Ethan! Duck!" Claire yelled, but Ethan hesitated in confusion, and Johann whipped a garroting wire out of his pocket and lifted it above Ethan's head. Claire stopped thinking and launched herself forward with such speed that neither man could follow her. As the wire descended for what would be quick death, Claire grabbed Ethan's tie and yanked him downward. He felled to the floor and out of the wire's swooping arch seconds before his neck was ensnared.

Claire's fist flew and hit Johann in the chest with force that propelled him into the hallway where he slammed into the wall. The hit hurt, but Johann was still functional, and he recovered quickly. He regained his feet and went to pull out his gun when he heard a click. He was staring right down the barrel of Claire's handgun. His eyes stared at her, calculating. No one moved that fast. He hadn't even gotten his gun completely free, and now he was forced to release it and hold his hands up.

Damn it; she was like Albert Wesker. Her eyes were solid gold, and glaring up at him in a hungry manner that Johann recognized. He was about to die if he didn't do something fast.

"Claire, what are you going to do?" Ethan asked as he stepped into the hall behind Claire. She ignored him as her senses were focused on Johann. He was not afraid. In fact, he was incredibly at ease, and the way he was riveted on her eyes…Shit! Claire's sunglasses were in the room. The beaten man must have noticed her discomfort, for he titled his head at her with a contemplative look. Claire eased back her gun. Executing him here, in the hallway was not a good idea. She could easily get them in trouble with government authorities and Exaction.

"Claire?" Ethan called. He did not like the coldness of her posture anymore than he liked thinking about the wire on the floor. "If we kill him, they'll know that it was us. He's right outside our door, and the deliveryman saw us with him." Johann took his chance as Claire glanced to her left, where Ethan was. He whipped a knife from his sleeve and cleanly slashed open Claire's right hand to disable her shooting skills before fleeing down the nearby stairwell. Claire's first reaction was to give chase, but Ethan was here. What would he think if she pummeled a man to death with her bare hands?

She grabbed her wounded limb and ran into their hotel room where she first found her sunglasses and then bound her hand so that Ethan would not see how quickly it healed. He asked to see the wound since he had some medical training, but Claire resisted. She also said that the sunglasses were hiding a bruise that Johann had given her, for she didn't want anyone to see it and get suspicious.

They left the hotel as quickly as Johann had, but the assassin was hardly defeated. He drove a short distance before calling Mr. Lance. Claire's amber eyes and speedy attack flashed in his memory. If she was like Wesker, then she wasn't human anymore, and that made her more valuable than she knew. Lance would be very interested to hear about Claire Redfield, very interested indeed. They'd been working on a procedure for an opportunity like this.


	11. Chapter 11: Partners

Chapter 11: Partners

Claire was sitting on a bench in a secluded section of a public park and watching the wind lightly play with the leafy foliage above her. It was two am, and Ethan would be sound asleep, so he wouldn't notice her absence. Claire had thought that tonight might be a peaceful one for her, but the agitation of knowing that a green-eyed freak or someone worse was on her tail had kept her from properly slowing her heart rate. She didn't need the rest anyway. In truth, having to cautiously and perpetually act human around Ethan got annoying at times. She was constantly hiding her traits, but it wasn't Ethan's fault, and so she couldn't stay vexed. He was good company besides the restrictions.

Claire tilted her head to better hear a rustle in the nearby bushes, but it was only a squirrel. Her nose picked out the scent of trash and she heard gentle, human voices from across the nearby pond—probably late night lovers. She relished sitting, listening, and watching, enjoying simplicity without any pressure or concerns. The last time that she had indulged the pleasure was on a snowy night. Claire barely smiled and pulled her legs up onto the bench.

It would be even more peaceful if she could fall asleep without worrying about nightmares. Lately, the dream was more focused on Wesker dying, and Chris was getting more vehement in questioning her. _Why, Claire? Why stay and help him_? And she never answered him, not once.

Her phone began vibrating, and Claire nearly ripped her pocket apart in grappling to free it from her pants.

"Hello?" she eagerly asked.

"You're up late again, dear heart," Wesker drawled as Claire lost track of the world around her. "Tell me, are you tired of playing human around your new partner yet?"

"At times," Claire admitted. "But I couldn't sleep, and I haven't done any watching in a long time. Is this a call for business or pleasure, Albert?"

"I see no reason to treat those options as exclusive, but this is more for business, I'm afraid." Claire figured as much based on his clipped tone. He didn't beat around the bush when he wanted to discuss something. "You moved very fast four days ago," he dryly noted. "You were in a hotel for hardly an hour before you left, and you didn't stay at Terrasave. It would seem that you're having problems or unwelcomed visitors."

"You have no freaking idea," Claire sighed. "This guy with knives and garroting wire came to our hotel—really green eyes and this smooth, almost childlike face. He's a total nutcase, if you ask me. Damn psychopathic too."

"Hmmm…" Wesker knew exactly whom she was referring to, and Johann Mauler was no one with whom to trifle. Lance meant business if he had sent the German after Claire.

"My partner and I are laying low right now, because I'm pretty sure that Exaction knows who we are, and…" Claire wanted to hit something rather than admit her carelessness, "And the killer saw my eyes, but he didn't seem phased. I'm worried that someone at Exaction will figure it out, especially if they know you. Please tell me that they haven't seen your eyes…"

"Claire, that was a careless mistake," Wesker darkly admonished. "Don't stay at your location for any extended period of time. In a few days…"

"Oh my god!" Claire gasped. "They do know you, don't they? Shit."

"Dear heart, who I associate with is none of your concern, but you should know that these men are not my friends, and you've made their hit list. It would be advantageous for you to ditch your _partner_," he spun the word with particular distaste, "and go somewhere safe." Claire's hand traveled to the key hanging around her neck, for she knew what he was implying, but she couldn't leave Ethan to die.

"They'll kill him," she argued.

"They'll do far worse to you. Weigh your options carefully, Miss Redfield."

"I have," Claire said. "But if they know my name and who I work for, the only way to be clear of this would mean killing the main people who know about me and destroying whatever information they've collected."

"Do they know your name?"

"I'm not going to assume that they don't."

"Keep yourself out of harms way and the files will be taken care of." Claire couldn't believe her ears, and her heart gave a most distinct jump. Wesker was going to come to her aid. Was she going to see him in person? "The killing will be up to you."

"Will you come here?" Claire asked, afraid to hear the answer, whatever it might be.

"I have a very busy schedule, Claire," Wesker said, not missing the apprehension in her voice. "If you have any major problems, you now have my number. But if you want me to come to you, I'd hope that it's for more than a visit given the time that it would take." _Damn it_, Claire thought, but he was right, of course. If he were going to go through any effort to see her, then Albert Wesker would expect her to have come to a decision. "If I'm in the neighborhood, I might drop by," he added in a teasing tone. "But, until then, you have larger concerns."

"Thank you for helping," Claire smiled. "Somehow I thought that you would." That surprised Wesker. Even he had not anticipated going out of his way to protect her, but Claire readily saw humanity in him, and so perhaps she extrapolated using that more than he ever did. On top of that, she definitely trusted him.

"Goodbye, Claire," Wesker said in parting. Claire sighed since the conversation had to end so soon, and Wesker must have heard it, for he chuckled. "Dear heart, try not to pine away too much."

"What?!" Claire crossly asked. "Who says that I'm pining away? I do not—" But the phone call had been ended, and Claire was left sitting in the park, alone and contemplating Wesker's decision to defend her. She wondered if his decision had anything to do with convenience or a plan. _But he is doing something_. Claire hated the idea of being a damsel in distress and being "saved", but this…maybe she didn't mind it so much this once since Wesker was showing concern. _And he's not treating me as a damsel, for the killing is left up to me._ She wasn't thrilled with the idea, but it didn't bother her either.

Claire smiled and shook her head. It almost felt like she and Wesker were partners working on opposite ends of a problem. The thought pleased her since the problem did not involve furthering Wesker's ambitions, and the idea of being his partner kept running through her head. But she didn't want to only be a partner. She was Ethan's partner. She had been Chris's partner. She wanted to be something more to Wesker. She wanted to be his—not a tool, not a brief respite from work—just his. There was the answer that she'd been searching for days to find.

_Why, Claire, why? _

"Chris, I…" Claire softly thought aloud. Was it because she had gone through so many emotional experiences with Wesker that they'd formed a bond? Maybe her caring nature had tied her to his small shows of kindness. Maybe she couldn't tear herself away because he had no one else to care about him.

Wesker didn't know what conclusion she had reached, but maybe he'd suspected the depth of her feelings this entire time. She'd only ever stated that she felt for him and liked being with him, and then she had left. For all he knew, she was merely torn in two over her feelings and fumbling to pull her life together after their experiences and amid her regrets. Some day she would tell him that she wanted to be his in spite of everything and for whatever reason. She owed him an answer since he had asked her what she wanted to be.

************

"Your requested files," Ada announced as she slid into Wesker's car and handed him two folders. One was much thicker and was on him, and the other was on Claire Redfield. So they did have her name now. That was unfortunate.

"Thank you kindly, Miss Wong," Wesker said as he fingered the files. He had not wanted to be seen at Exaction after Claire's incident and the accusations against him lest he find a multitude of annoying hit men sent after him. Ada had performed the job just as smoothly as he would, and she was far less conspicuous in appearance and trusted by the Agency. She had literally slipped in and out within a matter of minutes.

"Your payment has already been transferred," Wesker told Ada in dismissal, but the beautiful woman lingered.

"She must be very special to you," she said in reference to Claire Redfield. "You'd better hope that no one figures that out, or someone just like you will use it to their advantage." Wesker blankly turned toward Ada, and the woman felt an inward spark of caution due to the steel in his posture. The corners of his lips spread upward in a humorless smirk.

"Miss Wong," he coldly addressed. "I'm taking care of my interests, and you'd best keep to your professional observations since they're your specialty." Ada actually gave him a coy smile that plainly said that she didn't believe him before she opened the car door.

"Suit yourself, Wesker," she shrugged with the cool confidence that suited her so well. "But I'm a woman as well as a professional, and sometimes professional lines get blurred while taking care of interests. Until next time…" She was gone with thoughts of Leon circulated in her head, and Wesker was left sitting in the car with his files. He would not use Ada in any more business concerning Claire; that was for certain.

Claire's file contained the usual, basic information, but it lacked a current residency or known location of family members, which made Wesker smirk. For once Chris was being convenient, for if he were located, Lance would blackmail Claire through her brother and gain an easy victory. The thought of Claire being captured because of Chris…Wesker flipped the page to find several scribbled notes at the bottom of Claire's activities concerning Exaction.

_Request for target's termination cancelled. Enacting Crimson_.

Crimson? Wesker had no idea what that was and referred to his own file to see if there was any mention of it. He found it at the back of the folder in a short research report.

_Crimson: Dr. Bahadur has finished the antidote. It targets cells affected by mutations of t-virus and perhaps similar compounds. It appears to act as a poison in infected hosts at the lab, and it attacked and destroyed variations of the t-virus in multiple subjects. Death is slow; taking days, but severely weakens the host. Has only been tested on one, more powerful mutant like a tyrant, and Crimson did not kill the target but made it extremely sick and incapacitated. Suggestion is to use in subduing more advanced targets during outbreaks. Mass production not yet capable. _

Keys turned in the ignition and Wesker's black car headed straight for the airport.


	12. Chapter 12: Panic

Chapter 12: Panic

Claire's phone rang, but no one answered it. It lay forgotten on Claire's bed in an empty apartment where she had accidently left it when changing clothes. The phone fell silent before it began ringing again, insistent, begging to be answered.

"Hi! This is Claire Redfield, and I obviously can't answer the phone right now. Leave me a message and I'll call you back."

_Beep._

"Move," Wesker's voice commanded, and then the call ended.

*********

"I don't think that I've ever seen so many hot sauces in my life," Ethan marveled as he and Claire stood before a gigantic rack of bottles in a Korean grocery store. Claire was scrutinizing labels.

"I'm getting these three," she announced and moved to the cash register. The lady working behind the counter raised one of the bottles and pointed at it.

"Very hot. Too hot for you," she said with a heavy accent.

"Really?" Claire grinned. "Excellent. Ethan, can you grab one more of those?" The man sighed but complied while Claire paid and picked up her bag. They exited the store, and Claire vaguely felt like she was out fooling around with a friend, like a normal person again. It felt incredibly strange after recent events, but it was pleasant for the moment.

"Let's grab some lunch," Ethan suggested, and they began walking toward a sandwich shop several blocks away. They chatted away as a white van drove by. The driver had a hat pulled over his face and glanced out his window at them. For a second, Claire looked back and she caught a sparkle of gorgeous green eyes, but the van rapidly moved out of sight and was forgotten as Claire and Ethan leisurely ate. They finished their meal, and exited the shop to continue their way through the casual crowd when their attention was accosted.

Claire saw the woman first. She was short with cropped brown hair, glasses, and a flower-patterned dress—completely inconspicuous, and she was hurrying over to Claire and Ethan as they strolled back toward the apartment. The woman breathed deeply as she jogged the remaining distance toward them and stood panting. Her face was bright red from exertion.

"Please, can you help me?" she asked.

"What's wrong?" Ethan questioned with concern.

"My purse got stuck, and I can't reach it myself. Could one of you please get it for me? It's behind those buildings over there, and everyone else is ignoring me." The woman's shortened breath made her sentences run together, and Claire smiled reassuringly at her to help calm her down.

"Of course we'll help," Claire said. "Just show us where your purse is."

"God bless you!" the woman thanked and hurried across the street toward several tall buildings. Claire and Ethan faithfully followed, for they couldn't very well turn the poor woman away. Their feet plodded over the pavement and down a few steps into a large alley running behind apartment complexes. Then the alley took a turn and they were entering an old industrial section. The alley was sooty, dirty, and puddles of oil danced with rainbows around their feet. They were alone but for a few pigeons that cooed and bobbled overhead on the power lines. Ethan and Claire glanced at each other.

"Excuse me!" Ethan called, but the little woman was moving forward at a startling pace.

"It's right up here," she assured. "I'm sorry for the distance, but I really need the help. God bless you for coming so far with me." Encouraged by her words, they walked another few minutes and were now surrounded by the towering frames of old, rusty warehouses with bolted doors and broken windows.

"I don't like this," Claire told Ethan. "Why would she be back here?" Claire's senses were on fire as she scanned the area and attentively sniffed the air. She nudged Ethan and passed him a knife that he quickly tucked into his belt. He had learned to trust Claire's instincts, and he wasn't about to question her now. The memory of nearly having his throat sliced open was too fresh.

"Here we are," the woman excitedly called before turning into a walkway between buildings. She disappeared from sight and Claire and Ethan rounded the corner, expecting to find the lady pointing toward her purse, but instead they found themselves in a dead end. The passageway was wide enough for two cars and formed from a solid brick wall and a sealed building. The woman was gone.

"Let's get out of here," Ethan told Claire as he nervously shifted his feet. "Something's definitely not right." They wordlessly turned to leave when a painful screech of metal assaulted their ears. A massive, metal dumpster rolled in front of the alley's entrance, trapping them inside.

"Shit!" Ethan cursed as he took the knife out and moved to the dumpster to try and push it aside. With a grunt, he slammed into it, but the object barely shuddered from his force. He jumped and grabbed the edge of the container to lift himself up and look inside. "It's filled with cement blocks," he told her. "We'll never move this." _Not until I get emotional that is_, Claire thought.

"Here," she said and moved to a nearby door. With her body turned to block Ethan's view, she slammed her fist into the lock and chain, breaking them free. "We can take a side exit." She opened the door but stopped, her whole body growing rigid as the air inside hit her face. Her nostrils flared. She recognized the scent of whatever was in there. It was sweet and nauseating, like fresh decay mixed with chemicals. She gasped and slammed the door shut while wishing that she had never destroyed the lock.

"What?" Ethan asked, but Claire shook her head.

"Why the hell did this have to happen when we don't have guns?" she asked no on in particular. "Ethan, listen to me," she stressed, voice dead level. "Remember how I told you about the monsters in Raccoon City?" He nodded, eyes wide. "There's a thing in there called a tyrant, and it's one of those monsters. It will know we're here soon, so we're going to climb over the dumpster and make a run for it, okay?"

"Why is it here?" Ethan asked.

"I have no idea," Claire admitted. "But it's here for us, so let's go."

"You know best," Ethan stated as he ran for the dumpster. He cupped his hands and braced his legs. "Come on. You go first. I'll lift you over." He was still thinking of her safety, and it made Claire determined to get him out alive. She began moving toward him when a loud snarl issued from behind the door. _Please no_, Claire thought, but she could hear the thing sniffing around the door. "Claire, hurry!" Ethan urged, having also heard the snarl. "There's time for you to get out of here." _And then you'll die, Ethan. It's you that needs to leave_. And she dropped her grocery bag and put on her sunglasses. There wasn't enough time for both of them to get away.

"Claire, what the hell do you think you're doing?!" The door behind them was ripped off of its hinges and thrown into the alley as Claire spun to face the tyrant. One large, clawed hand reached out of the doorway and then another. Ethan froze in revolted shock and horror as the creature finally, fully emerged in its grotesque glory. The gray skin, half-rotted face that exposed teeth, and the pure height of the thing towering over him kept him rooted in place. Never before had he seen something like this, and it scared him to the core of his being.

"Holy shit…" he muttered, the knife gripped tightly in his hand until his knuckles turned white. The tyrant gave a low growl as its white eyes snapped toward Claire, the closest target, and took a step forward. Claire merely stood her ground and let her virus explode into life. Her hands balled into fists and her knees lowered. There was no way that her enemy was leaving this alley in one piece.

The tyrant lunged, and Claire dashed forward. Her light frame was much faster than the tyrant's, and so she ran and dived between its legs as its claws slashed downward to bury themselves in the dirt. She gracefully sprang to her feet behind its back and aimed a punch at its spine. Fist met flesh in a disgusting crunch and scream of pain as the creature stumbled forward. Claire quickly landed a kick to its side, and the thing collided headfirst with the wall, rupturing the wrinkled skin across its forehead and pouring dark blood down its face.

"Claire!" Ethan yelled as he ran for her, trying to grab her hand and pull her away from the creature while it was stunned.

"Ethan, no!" Claire yelled, but it was too late. The tyrant had turned and easily lifted Ethan and tossed his body to the side with a roar of anger. Ethan violently slammed into the dumpster and slouched toward the ground with a broken arm while the tyrant advanced on him. Its lower body was not functioning properly with the damage to its spine, but it was powerful enough to claw its way along the ground, dragging its bulk. With blood pouring into its eyes and pain ravaging its system, it was blinded to Claire and went for the object currently in its sights. Ethan stood and braced himself to attempt to run around the creature.

"Claire, go through the door and get out of here!" he ordered, but Claire would hear none of it. Ethan would die, and he was the last person who deserved to be murdered by a biological freak. Claire crouched and charged at the tyrant, climbing on its back and bashing it in the head with her fists. The skull cracked and blood sprayed across her face, but she didn't notice. She only saw that the tyrant was still moving, and she was going to make sure that it never got up again.

The tyrant rolled its weight and pinned Claire beneath itself. Its teeth gnashed in her face and blood and drool slathered her front, but she merely bared her teeth back and lifted her hands to pommel its chest. She felt a claw painfully pierce her abdomen as the thing lifted itself onto its knees and took a stab at her. Claire grabbed the claw, slicing her hands in the process, and tore it out of her body as blood poured from her mouth. With a gargled snarl, she lunged and landed punch after punch to the monster. She was on her feet with it below her. Her fists flew so quickly that she had no time to calculate her moves. It was all animalistic fury that propelled her onward, and the ground beneath them turned into a bloody pool of scattered chunks of flesh and body fluid as Claire landed a final blow.

The tyrant was a heaping mass of unrecognizable flesh, and Claire stood to her full height to view her handiwork. She shook her hands to rid herself of excess blood as she turned to look for Ethan, hoping that he was unharmed. He was leaning against the dumpster, clutching his broken limb and looking stunned. Claire had lost her sunglasses in the fight, and so the two faced each other, golden eyes meeting terrified brown.

"What are you?" he asked her, and Claire looked back at the tyrant. She had been a bit excessive, but she hadn't been in control. At least the thing was dead, but why had Ethan had to see her do it? Claire closed her eyes and tried to calm her raging emotions. She needed to be in control again to deal with this.

"I'm infected," she said and looked at Ethan to see his reaction. His eyes had grown even larger, if that were possible.

"You're like that thing?" he asked, and the words shot Claire through the heart.

"I'm nothing like that thing!" she barked, more violently than she had intended, and Ethan eyed her warily. _Good lord,_ Claire thought,_ he probably thinks that I might attack and kill him at any moment._ "Ethan, I'm not that different from you, just physically enhanced; that's all. I'm a person." But Ethan looked like he doubted that.

"Are you in control of yourself?" he asked, and Claire was again hurt by the distrust in his eyes. They had been partners. She had saved his life. Where was the man that had tried to seduce her and played bullshit with her on the plane? He was edging toward the side door that she had unlocked, and Claire's hope plummeted. This conjured every feat that she had of sharing her secret with average people—people that hadn't survived Raccoon and who knew nothing of Umbrella's world.

Behind her, the tyrant suddenly twitched, and Claire instinctively spun and swung a foot into its remains, sending organs across the alley and stilling the movement. Ethan gagged and ripped open the door.

"Help!" he called, and Claire's fears mounted. If he told people about her, she'd be done. Terrasave would report her to the government.

"Ethan, please don't!" she desperately yelled.

**********

Johann smiled as he knelt on the roof and readied his rifle. The test had worked perfectly; Claire was like Albert Wesker, and if they could experiment on her, than they'd know how to take down her boss and reproduce the virus in her veins. Johann pulled a long dart out of his black bag. There was a transparent level marker on the side of the bullet, and a brilliant, red liquid could be seen through it. He neatly loaded the dart into his gun and leveled it at Claire.

This is what happened to people who made of a fool of him. Not again. Never again. Ethan Vanderbilt was running. Good. He liked a chase. He grinned and pulled the trigger. One opponent down, one more to go.


	13. Chapter 13: Misunderstood, Alone

Chapter 13: Misunderstood, Alone

Claire felt something sting her shoulder and reached a hand around to grab the object. She held the now empty dart with uneasy hands. Already her muscles were beginning to experience a dull ache, and something akin to fire felt like it was swirling in her stomach. Claire stumbled and laid a hand against the nearby wall to steady herself before tilting her head to scan the area around her. Her eyes narrowed when she spotted Johann, now standing with his rifles slung over his shoulder and speaking into a mouthpiece.

"Come and get her. She'll be down in a few minutes," she heard him command. The dumpster shuddered in response and slowly began rolling out of the way to admit a white van. It backed into the alley's opening and the doors swung wide as two men in combat suits stepped out. Red dots from their automatic rifles landed on Claire's chest, but she barely noticed.

Her stomach was clenching now, and her head was getting lighter by the moment. Her eyes roved the alley while her mouth hung slackly open. The walls were beginning to blur, and suddenly she could have sworn that there were four men instead of two. She closed her eyes and frowned. _There are two men, Claire, only two. You can take them._ She kept her eyes closed so that her vision would not be mislead her and then crouched. To them, it looked like she was resting, too sick to attack, but her muscles tightened as she listened to their footsteps.

They were beside her now, and she heard their guns slung aside as they wrapped hands around her arms to lift her. She allowed them to plant her on her feet and begin readying handcuffs when she lashed out. With two quick punches, they were both dead from crushed lungs, and Claire opened her eyes to wobble inside of the warehouse where Ethan had run. Johann was nowhere in sight.

She didn't know where the freak with the rifle was, but she didn't much care as long as it was nowhere near her. She paused, bent over, and vomited. Damn, but what had they injected into her? Fear plagued her mind as she forced herself to ignore the nausea and walk forward. She half-expected to mutate any second, but that made no sense. No, perhaps they had given her some type of sedative to try and peacefully capture her. That made more sense, especially since Claire's muscles felt drained. She was still plowing her way through locked doors, but the movements were delayed, and she had to concentrate to perform the task.

Claire's steps were heavier than usual but still quiet as she entered a crumbling hallway. Streams of light streamed through small holes in the ceiling, and old equipment lay discarded about her feet. The rays of light caught the red of her hair and blood crusted limbs as she slinked forward. Shadow, light, shadow, light. Her boots lightly clicked on the metal as she heard something ahead.

"Yes? Hello? This is Ethan Vanderbilt," the voice spoke. "I know that I haven't reported in several days, but just listen, okay? I'm…" Claire was relieved that he was unharmed and straighten to walk toward him. He was in the room to her right, and she had to help him get out of here. "How soon can you have them here? That's too long! Okay, okay. My partner?" Claire paused while her stomach gave another sharp twist. "Claire Redfield might be a danger to Terrasave…" She didn't wait. She couldn't risk it.

Claire was in the room and grabbed the cell phone, but Ethan yanked back, and she lost her hold in her current state. He took a step away from her, brown eyes frightened.

"Ethan," Claire tried to gently say, "Please don't tell them anything. You have no idea what they'll do to me." Ethan's eyes softened and sparked hope within Claire, but he didn't return the phone. "You can trust me, I…"

"Claire, I, I'm sorry," he nervously said. "I shouldn't have ran away like that, but you scared the shit out of me. I mean, what does infected mean? And are you even human?"

"No," Claire breathed, and she knew that Ethan was tensely watching her every move. "But you didn't have a problem with that before."

"Claire…" and his completely sympathetic eyes told Claire that he was getting over the shock and beginning to see her as a person again. "Damn, but I'm sorry. I guess that you've been like this the entire time, but the way you lost control back there—you ripped that thing apart like it was nothing." He lifted the phone and shook his head. "Don't worry, Claire. I know that it's you, but I have to tell Terrasave for everyone's safety. If you lose control like that again, and no one is prepared, you could do a lot of damage. And maybe there's a cure!" His genuine, positive outlook reminded Claire of Rebecca, but she could only respond with a downtrodden expression and tone.

"Ethan, no one can know."

"But the government could…"

"Could slice me apart." Ethan stared at his phone indeterminately. "Give me the phone," Claire requested. "I'm beyond a cure." Ethan protectively kept the phone near his chest and began punching keys. "Ethan…" Claire saw solid amber and her body urged her to take action.

"I'm sorry, Claire, but you're too dangerous to remain a secret, and I think that you discount how much help people could give you. No one can help cure your infection if they don't know that you're infected." A conflict raged within Claire's body, but she couldn't wait with time ticking away dangerously over her head. _He'll get you killed, tortured, mutilated._ Images of Umbrella experiments ran through her mind, and Wesker's warnings echoed in her head. She took a step forward with a glaring expression. _Don't do this,_ part of her warned. _He's misguided, but he cares about you_. But if she was strapped to a lab table, what did it matter?

She reached for the phone when a strong wave of nausea washed over her, slowing her body and making her shudder. It gave Ethan enough time to respond and run. Claire's feet followed, and she was quickly outpacing him. She chased him through a darkened hallway and into an opening between two warehouses. With each step, Claire got closer. But with each step, she lost more control. The human ahead of her took on the appearance of prey, and one that she had to bring down.

Ethan splashed through puddles as he made his way forward, but Claire's hand whipped out and grabbed his shirt. He was thrown to the ground and Claire violently wrested the phone from him and crushed it in her hand. Ethan tried to edge away from her, but she planted a foot solidly on his chest and applied some pressure. She could kill him with a simple, downward push.

She callously watched him writhe underneath the uncomfortable pressure of her foot for an indecisive moment before she stopped. This was Ethan—her friend and partner. He might not understand what he was doing to her, but he was still a good man. She couldn't hold him responsible for how he had reacted given his ignorance of her situation, and this latest action had probably only increased his misconception.

"Ethan, the government will kill me and Terrasave will disown me," she sighed. "It seems that most people would disown me no matter how much they liked me before." She held out a hand to him. "But I'm going to get you out of here. Please promise that you won't tell anyone about me." Ethan stared at her long and hard before he sheepishly took her hand and she pulled him up. Claire waited for some kind of response from him as he stared at the ground, thinking.

_Say something, Ethan. Don't treat me like a creature or a threat_. She had never ventured to tell an outsider about her condition, but she had long been dwelling on the possibility. Ethan was the best kind of man, and so she waited impatiently and anxiously. He still cared about her. She could see it in the guilty cast to his face, the way that he sheepishly avoided her eyes. He knew that she was the same person, but did he understand enough to keep her secret? Could he trust her again? _Say anything, Ethan. I need an answer to this_. But she was terrified that she'd be disappointed.

Ethan's face softened. Claire looked up into his kind, brown eyes and he faintly smiled at her. Claire smiled back, relief temporarily dispelling awareness of her throbbing body. Ethan opened his mouth to speak when a sharp bang echoed among the buildings. One moment Claire was watching Ethan with bated breath, and the next Ethan was on the ground.

"NO!" Claire yelled. He laid with his arms spread out, unmoving, a hole in the side of his skull where blood was running freely down his neck. The brown eyes were unseeing, but for a split second they retained their warm expression. Then it was gone. He was gone, and Claire stood dumbfounded. He had not deserved to die like this, and something precious had been taken from her again. But his parting stare…Claire crumbled to the ground at his side, unworried about bullets, and closed his eyelids. She smiled with trembling lips. He had been looking at her like he used to do when they worked together. There was a small chance that he had understood, but she would never know if he would have kept her secret.

Left with sadness, uncertainty, and hope, Claire stood and swayed as a sickness enveloped her. Ethan had been young, vibrant, and untouched by the intensity of what had taken over her life. Anger mixed with the sorrow as another loud bang sounded. Claire ran for cover. She had to find that green-eyed bastard, and when she did, he was going to regret killing Ethan. She was in no condition to fight, but either she killed him, or he did something far worse to her. Survival depended on how this game ended.


	14. Chapter 14: Hello, Goodbye

Chapter 14: Hello, Goodbye

Hmmm. The woman seemed quite torn by her partner's death, but what were they thinking standing in the open like that? Johann leveled a second shot at Claire, but she dodged the bullet. Apparently Crimson was not acting as quickly as he'd been led to believe; _but this is what happens when you rely on someone else_, he thought as he reloaded his gun. He worked for scientists and businessmen, but if they were as powerful and untouchable as they believed, then they wouldn't need the help of someone like him. They were all mortal, and he was a killer that danced to the tune of their wallets. He didn't give a shit about their plans to control the world with viruses, although he wouldn't mind getting his hands on whatever was in Claire's system.

Look at her go. She had sprinted into the warehouse, but he detected the wobble in her steps. She was slowing down, and he was just getting started. He smiled with satisfaction as he swung his rifle over his back and pulled out a long knife. She would run and wear herself down, making it easier for Crimson to incapacitate her. He'd play with her to help the process along, maybe shed some blood—injure her so that she could be restrained. Two of his assistants had been killed trying to take her, but that's what backup was for. He radioed in a request and began descending the stairs near his perch.

He meandered across a steel beam and through a window into the building where Claire was hiding. He could not hear or see her, but he was sure that she was close by. She would lay in wait for him, for she had no choice when she was weaponless and needed to kill him. Superhuman or not, Johann was confident. He was very good at what he did, and he was a man who appreciated a challenge after so many easy kills.

He kept to the upper walkways as he scanned the ground below for his target. If he were her, he'd hide over there, near the old engines. The metal bulks were arranged in columns and rows with short passageways between them. It was the perfect spot for an ambush, if she was as clever as he credited her with, that is. He soundlessly strode down the stairs and along the rim of the engines. He lifted an old metal crowbar and threw it, waiting for a response.

There was a soft dragging sound to his left, like someone moving heavily against a wall. Johann knew death when he sensed it, and he smiled. This was his favorite part.

He crept up behind where he had heard the noise and peered between several metal gears. Claire was slumped against one of the engines while admirably controlling her labored breathing. There was vomit on the floor beside her, and she had her eyes closed with her head tilted backward against the wall. She seemed unaware, but Johann had already seen this trick. If she wanted to play dirty, he would accommodate her.

"How's it going, Claire?" The woman's eyes snapped open and zoned in on him. He was directly in her line of vision, bolding standing with his hands in his pockets and smiling at her. He knew how charming and innocent his smile looked, for he'd perfected the art, and he watched as Claire glared at him. She was trying to figure out what he was up to, but Johann gave no clues.

"My, my, don't you look a mess," Johann chided with a playful head toss to get hair out of his face. Claire looked horrible with blood and dirt smearing her body. "But I bet you clean up nicely," Johann commented as he winked at her. And then he quickly moved to vanish among the engines, leaving Claire to turn in circles. Meanwhile, he turned on the electronic signal attached to his belt. It would send his location to the approaching vehicles so that they'd easily locate him and Claire.

He was back on the upper levels with his rifle ready for action. He had seen the anger in Claire's eyes, and he knew better than to tango with that. She was a horror when angry, from what he could tell. So he'd keep his distance and wear her out this way. There was no sense risking unnecessary, bodily injury, and he was wearing a brand new, Armani suit, and he didn't want blood on.

He followed Claire as she gingerly stepped out from behind an engine and began running for an adjoining room. She was in the open now, and Johann fired. Claire's left shoulder whipped her around. Johann fired again; Claire's right leg buckled and she fell to the ground. She screamed in pain and frantically located her assailant. Now her eyes were burning with barely controllable emotions. Johann was pleased that he'd decided to keep his distance as he reloaded and she tried to stand. Her efforts quickly failed and she was on the ground, vomiting into the blood around her feet.

Johann fired.

***********

Wesker listened to the shots firing and his pace quickened with urgency. He had not counted on Lance using a poison against Claire, and she wasn't prepared for it since she hadn't answered her damn phone. If he wasn't fast enough and had to chase after Claire to one of the Agency's labs, he was going to be extremely annoyed. But trailing with that thought was also concern over Claire's safety. Researchers didn't need much time to do major damage, and crimson hadn't been tested on subjects as powerful as either him or Claire. He had no idea what it would do to her.

Someone screamed, and he instantly recognized the voice as Claire's as it reverberated down the halls with pain and frenzy. He had never heard her scream before. When she was angry, surprised, fighting—during those events he had heard her yell, but never scream. She had always obstinately bitten back the urge, as if admitting pain was unacceptable for her opponents to see, but now she was screaming.

Wesker didn't bother opening doors. He brutally destroyed them and cleared a path until he finally barged into a large room with heavy equipment and suspended walkways. His attention fastened on the woman at the center of the room. She was laying in her own vomit and blood and pushing herself upward with shaky hands. A bullet ripped through her remaining, unharmed leg as she managed to stand, and she was on the floor again with another scream. Her powers weren't kicking in and her wounds weren't healing as quickly as they should have been. Wesker could only assume that crimson was taking its toll on Claire.

Behind the sunglasses, his redness glinted maliciously, and his face twisted into anger in a rare show of his thoughts. He was not one to let emotions tamper with his actions, but he was furious, and someone was unquestioningly going to die. The pained, frustrated expression on Claire's face did not belong there. She was the picture of defeat, yet she still struggled to stand, propelled onward by that dear heart of hers. She was better than the man destroying her. That psychopath, Johann Mauler, stood on the walkway above her like a man at a shooting gallery. It was the last time that his sadism would scar anyone.

Wesker took side stairs and was soon on Johann's level, completing dismissing secrecy as he advanced. The killer, whose vision pulled back from his gun and locked on the dark, approaching figure, did not miss the cruel set of Wesker's mouth. Still, the gun did not immediately turn as Wesker drew closer, and Johann sized up his opponent. This was the legendary Albert Wesker—bane of Michael Lance's existence. No doubt Lance's hound considered himself lucky to bag two prizes in one day, but he recognized a dangerous man when he saw one.

"Albert Wesker," Johann greeted. "How nice of you to join us." The gun turned and fired as Wesker attacked. He heard the satisfying sound of breaking bones as he hit Johann, and then he grabbed the man's neck. The knife that was stabbed into Wesker's heart didn't even faze him as he pulled off his sunglasses. The red was scourging but didn't bother Johann, who defiantly met Wesker's gaze and told him that intimidation wouldn't work. These were his last breaths, and Johann would not depart as a coward.

"Goodbye, Herr Mauler," Wesker levelly stated. Bones snapped and Johann's body was tossed off of the walkway like useless garbage. Then Wesker jumped from the railing and landed with a loud clatter on the floor below. His hands were on Claire, gently turning her over so that she wasn't choking on her fluids. She coughed and tried to escape his hands, but with tender insistence that she relax, the squirming ceased. When she realized who was with her, Wesker could only describe what he saw flash across her face as relief and happiness. Her hands lifted to touch him, and he let her bloody fingers brush across his cheeks.

"Please tell me that I'm not hallucinating," she said.

"I'm real," Wesker assured as his gloved hands wiped dirt from her face. Claire closed her eyes and Wesker pulled her into a sitting position and against his chest. She nuzzled into his jacket as he held her. The affection was welcomed, and the red strands of hair were as soft as he remembered them. He would have been satisfied to remain in their current position, but the situation did not permit it. His arms wrapped around her in support as he forced her to her feet. "Can you stand on your own?" he asked her.

"I think so," Claire said and tested her legs. "I'm not healing properly, but it feels like everything's patched up." Her body had recovered from the bullets, but it stilled ached and heaved with illness. "They injected me with something. I don't know what it was."

"Crimson," Wesker stated. "A type of anti-viral poison." He noted the sudden, embarrassed frown that came over Claire's face as he spoke, but it had nothing to do with his words. She smelled the vomit on herself and looked at Wesker's jacket with the mess that she had smeared on it.

"I'm sorry about that," she said.

"It can be cleaned," Wesker dismissed. "Where's your partner?"

"He didn't make it," Claire morosely stated. Wesker had suspected as much, but he said nothing as Claire mulled over whatever was troubling her. His head turned at the sound of approaching cars outside the building. Soon the front doors of the warehouse were thrown open and armed men poured inside to fan out and shout orders to one another.

"Leave us, dear heart," Wesker ordered, but Claire didn't move, and he read the hesitancy and worry in her posture. She didn't want to leave him. It was against her nature, and how very Redfield-like to be concerned about someone else when she was in a worse condition. "Claire," Wesker softly said. She looked at him with those open eyes and wordlessly begged him to come with her. She didn't want to lose him again, so soon.

"What if they inject you with the poison?" she asked. "No one's going to save you." Wesker remained expressionless as he handed her his car keys. What she said wasn't entirely true. If he were captured, she would come after him, futile as it might be. Wesker had the urge to stroke her face, but the enemy was getting closer.

"Your body is no condition to fight," he stated. "Go somewhere safe where I can find you."

"But your house is too remote for me to reach on my own, and everyone I know is either away or dead," Claire protested.

"This isn't a request, Claire. Do you honestly think that these men are a match for me?" She twiddled the keys." Go before you complicate what needs to be finished." She reached out and touched his gloved hand before turning and sprinting from the scene. Wesker knew that she hated leaving, but she also knew that she would make the situation worse if she stayed; for her current weakness would compromise his position. He watched her glance over her shoulder at him with regret. He nodded, and she kept moving.

_Go somewhere far away until this is cleared up and you're better, dear heart. I'll come for you as soon as I can_. When the assault team entered his territory, he was ready for them.


	15. Chapter 15: Sharing Sorrow

Chapter 15: Sharing Sorrow

Claire sat in the back of the taxi and stared mindlessly out the window. Months of waiting and she had gotten to see him for a few brief minutes. She hadn't expected to be saved, since she believed him to be busy destroying files, but he had found her. He would always be able to find her, and the knowledge comforted her now as she traveled alone and lonely. She imagined his hand caressing her face and wished that he had chosen to accompany her. She hadn't gone back to the apartment, so she didn't even have a phone or laptop for him to contact her through.

The car hit a bump and set off another massive headache that made Claire groan. It had been about twelve hours since her escape, and driving Wesker's car had been difficult in her condition. Concentration was a burden; her limbs were shaky; and now headaches had joined her upset stomach. She had never been this sick, and she hoped to never relive this experience. Maybe crimson was killing her, but she prayed that it wasn't. It was not the way that she pictured dying. Something along of lines of going down while fighting a monster seemed more appropriate and desirable compared to wasting away on the sidelines.

"Are you alright, miss?" the taxi driver asked. "I don't mean to be rude, but I don't need you hurling in here."

"I'm fine," Claire lied. The car stopped at a red light and Claire watched a woman standing on the curb, holding a little girl's hand. There were so many people, and they went about their lives, oblivious to what was happening in their backyards. Claire squeezed her eyes shut as Ethan came to mind. She could see him standing on the other side of the child, holding the free hand and walking with a family.

Would he have protected her secret? Claire wanted to believe that he had told her yes in his final moments, but what of these people? Ethan had almost turned her over, first from fear, then from the misconception that he was helping her. They had been close friends by the time of his death, and Ethan was one of the best men that she'd ever met. If someone like that could nearly dispose of her because of what she was, then she saw no reason to trust the people on the sidewalk. She wanted to, but she couldn't. Ethan had both confirmed her fears and given her hope. He would never how important his parting smiled had been for Claire, but one thing was for certain: Claire did not belong out there with those people anymore, because she didn't want to live like she had something to hide.

"We're here, miss," the taxi driver announced, and Claire tossed him his money. She stood outside the suburban house before her and swallowed. She had thought long and hard about where she could go, because it had to be somewhere that Wesker knew about, and she needed someone that she could trust to wait with her through her sickness. There was only one person left whom Claire had some connection to and whose location fit the requirements, and she didn't even know if she'd be welcomed. It would have been surer to go to Wesker's house if the trip there would have been easier, but here she was.

Claire knocked on the door and looked over herself. She had stolen a pair of jean shorts and a white t-shirt off of someone's clothing line, for she couldn't very well have walked into a store to buy something covered in vomit and blood. She had also washed most of the dirt and gore off at a public restroom, but she hadn't bathed since the attack, so she felt grimy. Hopefully she looked and smelled presentable enough.

"Hello again, Claire," an older man greeted as he opened the front door. "I wasn't expecting to see you again."

"I know that I'm a surprise," Claire said. "But I really need a place to stay, Dr. Matthews. Could I intrude for a few days?" The spry, gray-haired man looked over her despondent appearance and quickly ushered her inside.

"My dear, I wouldn't dream of seeing someone come this far to be turned out," he said. Claire found herself in his familiar living room as he shut the door. "I've seen my share of students on hard times crash on my couch or in the guest room—much like you did last time you were here. Please, have a seat and tell me what the problem is." Claire did as asked and Matthews returned to his prior seat in the chair opposite her.

"I got in trouble with some dangerous people, and Albert told me to go somewhere safe," Claire explained. "Dr. Matthews—"

"Isaac," he corrected.

"Isaac, Albert's going to come get me because I'm sick. That's what he said, and I'm sure he'll do it once he realizes that I'm here. I'm sorry for the hassle, but I don't have anywhere else to go." She found Matthews staring at her with a troubled expression.

"Albert will come here?" he asked, utter disbelief in his voice.

"I think so." Matthews eased back into his chair and closed his eyes in contemplation.

"All these years of waiting…" he sighed. "I'd never dared hope to see him again. I told him to never come back, even though I regretted it almost instantly. Claire, did you tell him that I was sorry for what I did?"

"I tried." Matthews gave a humorless laugh.

"Then he didn't believe you. I suddenly find myself in a pickle. Maybe I don't deserve forgiveness, but I'd like to speak with him at least once more before I die. I won't pretend that I haven't dreamed of doing so. Even if it means nothing to him, I've waited decades to get this off of my chest. You have no idea, Claire, how much this has weighed on me. Every time I go back to that classroom where I last spoke with him or enter his old room…that's the guest room now, you know. The room you stayed in was his." Matthews pushed his glasses up onto his nose and stood.

"A man's conscience is a blessing and a curse," he grumbled before turning to Claire. "You may stay as long as you need, Claire. It's been a long time since a student's bummed off of me, but I've never begrudged the experience." Claire frowned and opened her mouth, but Matthews anticipated her. "I can see that the term 'bummed' doesn't suit you. Don't worry," he kindly assured. "I was joking."

"Isaac," Claire warned. "I got in trouble before coming here, and I don't want you to help me if you're worried about that."

"Nonsense," Matthews said, and his playful smile finally returned. "Look at me. I'm in good health, but I'm old and have no family. I have no reason to not risk helping you besides selfish-preservation. Now stop being stubborn and let me get you some food or carry luggage to your room."

"I don't have any luggage," Claire stated.

"Oh," Matthews paused. "You really did get in trouble, didn't you? Well, I prefer traveling light myself. Let's get some food." Claire easily slipped into pleasant conversation with the professor as they sat in the kitchen and munched. If she could have chosen a caregiver after her parents' death, Matthews would have been her top pick. He joked, jested, and somehow made meaningful comments all at the same time, but Claire could tell that Albert was on his mind when he paused or they grew silent for some time. Intuition told her that this was a man who would understand her sorrows due to his experiences and thoughtfulness.

When he turned around with a freshly opened can of peaches, he met Claire's serious eyes and knew that she was about to confide in him. He'd been waiting to see if she'd explain her situation to him, but he hadn't dared presume that she would. Now she sat, ready to impart him with something that she wasn't entirely sure was a good idea.

"Isaac," she said. "I have a story to tell you, if you're interested. I've never shared it with anyone, because I never thought that anyone would understand and accept it, and the last person who found out even a small piece of who I am betrayed me." She needed this. Matthews might be the one person in the entire world who would hear about her infection and history with Wesker and not react aggressively or banish her. Chris didn't know the whole story. No one but Wesker did. She sighed and steeled herself to do this. It would be okay.

"I have a feeling that this will be a very long story," Matthews said. "And I'll hear it, Claire; although I expect that this not a happy tale. I have often wondered whether ignorance is better than knowing, but my inquisitive nature has always made me listen even when I don't necessarily want to know the truth. The truth sets you free, huh? The truth can give you a headache." He passed Claire more fruit and sat with her at the counter's barstools. "I'm ready whenever you are."

"It started almost seven years ago when I went to see my brother, Chris, in Raccoon City…" And the story came out much more easily than Claire would have imagined.


	16. Chapter 16: Perfectly Fitting

Chapter 16: Perfectly Fitting

Michael Lance couldn't believe his ears when the phone call came in. Twenty-six men, including Johann Mauler, were dead, and there was nothing to show for it. He didn't even know who was responsible, but surely not Claire Redfield, who had run from her first skirmish with Johann. Albert Wesker? Maybe. Who else could have caused such destruction?

"DAMN IT!" Lance threw the wine glass that he was holding across the room where it shattered against the wall. Johann had been his best man. Finding a replacement would be difficult and time consuming, the files were gone, and Claire Redfield had escaped. His only conciliation was that the board had finally heeded his warnings and completely blacklisted Wesker pending an investigation. If they didn't agree that he was behind this and needed to be stopped…

Lance didn't just want Wesker ousted from the Agency. He wanted him dead, and it would have pleased him greatly to personally torture the man first. The bastard deserved it after the stress and backups that he had caused. Lance sneered in annoyance as the front door to his office swung open and a secretary popped her head inside.

"Is everything all right, sir?" she sweetly asked.

"Out. Now." Her complexion paled and she quickly shut the door as Lance lit himself a cigar and spun his chair around. His back was to the door now and he was staring out the windows lining the wall behind his desk. He took a long drag and blew it skyward. How had everything gone to hell so quickly? He was used to being the top player in these sorts of games, and he was one of the craftiest businessmen around. He knew that Wesker was his equal, and they were very similar men when it came down to it, but Lance had an inkling that his enemy's power overshadowed his own. He just didn't understand how it had happened.

The door opened again and Lance rolled his eyes.

"I said, get out. I am not to be disturbed until I request it," he angrily admonished, but someone's padded footsteps were coming closer. Lance spun his chair and automatically reached for the security button on his desk, but a hand came down heavily atop his, crushing it against the wooden surface, mere inches from salvation. The hand was gloved in black leather, and Lance lifted his eyes to find Albert Wesker standing beside him. He could not read the man's face, but nor could Wesker read his. Lance forced himself to not look at the top drawer of his desk, where a pistol lay.

"Good afternoon, Chairman Lance," Wesker coldly greeted. He looked as dark and emotionless as Lance remembered from their brief meeting. "I decided to pay you a visit since you've displayed so much interest in me." Lance quickly located the handgun strapped to the inside of Wesker's trench coat and used his head to motion toward his trapped hand.

"If you'd be so kind," Lance calmly said, and Wesker actually released his hand and stood imposingly over him. Lance was equally surprised but didn't show it as he leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his lap. He wondered if he was fast enough to get to the gun, but if Wesker had killed twenty-six armed combat troops, would it matter?

"My interest in you is only due to your interference in my business," Lance stated as he continued to smoke his cigar. "Had you not sent your man—or woman rather—after me, I wouldn't have bothered you. Claire Redfield is your woman, is she not?" Wesker paused before answering.

"Yes," he stated. "But you've been after me longer than her involvement. You've hated me since the day we met." Lance tilted his head in acknowledgment. "It was a poor choice to pick a fight with me, Mr. Lance, and you'll no doubt continue to be a nuisance." Lance hated how Wesker belittled him as a mere hindrance.

"So you've come to kill me," Lance accepted, taking a nervous puff of his cigar. Thank god he had something to help keep his nerves together, but this wasn't a surprise. He had been expecting this, for men like him rarely died of natural causes. "I don't suppose that I can cut a deal with you for my life? I'm a wealthy, powerful man, and I'm sure that I have something of interest to you." Of course he wouldn't actually give Wesker anything. His pride wouldn't allow it, and he didn't want to live if he couldn't retain his status. If he could only worm out of this, he'd kill Wesker later.

"You lost your bargaining power when Herr Mauler decided to use Miss Redfield for target practice," and Wesker's voice had lowered to a pain-promising, dark tone. "And, with all due respect, I don't trust you." Lance lunged for the drawer with the gun, but Wesker easily intercepted him and smashed him against the wall. Lance grunted in pain as he lifted himself only to be kicked in the gut. The force of the blow lifted him from the floor and sent him to the other side of the room.

"Help!" Lance yelled, desperate now. He had to get to his gun. He began crawling in that direction, but Wesker shot him in the right leg.

"Do you know what your man did to Miss Redfield, Lance?" Wesker mockingly asked. Lance continued to yell for help as Wesker kicked him over so that he was on his back, staring up at Wesker. "No? Allow me to demonstrate." He shot Lance in his other leg, then the shoulders, then the abdomen. Lance yelped in pain with each shot. Where were those shitty, sorry-excuse security guards? He paid them to prevent things like this from happening.

"Please, I'll do anything!" he shouted, but Wesker only knelt over him and tapped the gun against Lance's head.

"I'm afraid that I don't have time to negotiate with you," Wesker stated. "Someone's expecting me." Lance's eyes widened in fear as Wesker stood and aimed the gun at his forehead. With a final bullet, the chairman was dead, and Wesker left his bloody corpse to be found later. He stepped out of the office and smirked at the secretary huddled in the corner.

"Did you call security?" Wesker asked her, and she hurriedly shook her head. "Have a pleasant day." She shook in fear as the gentleman left, but as soon as he was out of sight, she called the police and began to cry. She had said that she needed an instigation to look for a new job, but this had not been what she meant.

**********

"Claire, are you sure that you're alright?" Matthews asked through the bathroom door.

"I'll be fine. Just give me a minute," she called back. She flushed the toilet that she had been hunched over, rinsed her mouth, and cleaned her face. She examined herself in the mirror and found that her eyes were still amber. She'd been experiencing random, intense, body-wide pains over the last two days, and sometimes she vomited. She suspected that the near-constant gold of her irises was linked to the pain, and certainly the sickness. She straightened and opened the bathroom door to find Matthews standing there, brow furrowed in worry.

"That's the third time today," he commented.

"I'm trying to not keep track," Claire moaned as she leaned against the wall. Her body was tired from the internal battle being waged between her cells and the poison, but there was nothing that she could do about it. Matthews wrapped a stabilizing arm around her waist and helped her to the guest room where she sat on the bed.

"Do you need anything?" Matthews asked, and Claire smiled.

"You're making this much more bearable," she said. "I can't thank you enough. And by the way, you're doing an amazing job of not staring at my eyes."

"They are a bit disconcerting," Matthews confessed. "But don't worry about it." Claire was ever grateful that he had digested her story without a single judgmental or negative response. In fact, he seemed quite amazed and proud of her. _You've eased my heart, Claire_. He had never commented much beyond that, but Claire understood his meaning. She had given him hope that Wesker was not completely lost, and she did not know it, but Matthews was banking on her having replaced the close connection that he would never regain with his adoptive son.

Claire pulled the blankets over herself and made sure that a trashcan was beside the bed before fluffing her pillows. She enjoyed spending time with Matthews, but she wished that Wesker would hurry up and come for her. She missed him, and in her pain she wanted his arms around her. When she was shot and bleeding across the warehouse floor, she had thought that she was finished, but then he had appeared. Just seeing him, having him touch her, had made her feel secure. When he held her, it was like he was telling her that everything was going to be all right. She wanted that now, and she wanted to sit and talk with him like they used to do. He could sit on the other side of this bed and type while they chatted. Hell—they didn't even need to talk. She'd be content to watch him work. Her amber eyes drooped in longing.

"He'll come, according to your experience," Matthews said, "and according to mine, he'll do it at his own pace." Claire laughed and instantly regretted the jolt it sent through her stomach.

"That's one-hundred percent correct," she agreed.

"I'll be downstairs if you need anything," Matthews said. "Do you like to read?"

"Absolutely," Claire chirped. She hadn't sat down and enjoyed a book since Wesker's Shakespeare copy. Matthews left and returned with a thin, leather volume that he handed to her.

"It's my favorite," he told her. "And I think someone like you will appreciate it." Claire had noticed the book sitting downstairs on the coffee table yesterday, and gingerly opened the worn pages. The script was written in graceful, curving calligraphy on thin paper that had clearly seen a lot of use. Claire began reading the short poems—no longer than a page each, but paused when one, specific title caught her eye. A distant smiled curled over her lips. _Dear Heart_.

She stands alone and mourns the lost,

The dead, the dying, the outcasts.

With eyes of clearest blue, she sees

And watches for the light of dawn.

But she waits for what she was and is.

The light was always hers.

Such a shining, fleeting soul, is she

To make cause from another's loss.

She forges the heart of a dying world.

She is that heart, the dearest heart.

Claire read the poem again and again until the words were imprinted on her mind. She had always preferred stories to poems, but she decided that this might trump her favorites. The precious words were gathered and held tightly as her tired body finally plunged into much needed sleep.


	17. Chapter 17: You Were Never Unwanted

Chapter 17: You Were Never Unwanted

Matthews dashed into the kitchen and answered the ringing phone in the knick of time. He and Claire had been upstairs playing a round of Uno when the interruption began, and he'd barely made it downstairs before the final ring.

"Hello—Dr. Matthews speaking," he said.

"Is Claire Redfield with you?" Matthews stood stock-still and glanced toward the stairs. He recognized the voice on the other end of the line, even though he hadn't heard it in decades.

"She's here, Albert," he stated. "But she's not doing well, and I don't know what to do for her." The phone went dead and Matthews hung it back on the wall with a sigh. He couldn't expect more from Wesker, but how he wished that he hadn't done what he had.

Claire had somehow connected with Wesker, and perhaps in a way that he had never been able to. Obviously Wesker felt something for her or he wouldn't bother coming for her, but could his son be using her? He couldn't believe that. After Claire's story, he had decided that there was a good chance that Wesker had retained some of his warmer characteristics. Claire could be what Matthews couldn't, for she had potential as a companion and lover, and perhaps she'd affect Wesker for the better. The relationships that he had lacked as a child might be made up for through her.

"If you're trying to delay your defeat, it won't work," Claire yelled down the stairs, for she had an amazing hand full of 'draw four' cards.

"This old bag has some tricks up his sleeves yet, young lady!" Matthews warmly ascended the stairs to continue the Uno game while shaking his head. Yes, Claire had revived his hopes to see Wesker in a better light. He wondered if she had decided on the love issue yet.

**********

Another day passed and Claire was decidedly pale. She sat in bed with arms wrapped around her midsection, gazing out the window. She was vomiting less, but she wasn't sure if that was a good sign, for now her muscles were weaker. She'd walk downstairs and help Matthews clean for about an hour and then need to sit and rest. If this were an indicator of how the battle inside of her was faring, she was in trouble.

Where was Wesker? Matthews said that Wesker had called yesterday but that he'd been brief. Claire feared that he might have also been poisoned. Maybe he wasn't in any condition to come for her, and she couldn't think of anyone that would care for him. That worried her more than her own illness, because people like Matthews and Chris would come to her aid, but Wesker was alone. Enemies waited on the sidelines to spring when he appeared weak, and researchers would find him a marvel upon which to experiment. Umbrella had started a screwed up industry all right—the assholes.

Claire heard a car pulling into the driveway outside of the house and slowly made her way to the window. Her eyes immediately widened and she leaned against the glass panes in excitement. The car was black, and the driver's door was opening. A tall, blond man stepped out of the vehicle in his usual attire, minus the trench coat. _Albert in the casual_, Claire smiled—a snug, black t-shirt, and black pants. He stood and stared at the suburban street with its perfect green lawns and then examined the house before him. His head tilted up towards Claire, and she smiled at him.

Wesker walked to the front door and rang the doorbell. The chime resounded through the house, and Claire began moving to go downstairs, but then she heard the door open below her and stopped. Matthews was beginning to speak, and Claire realized that he had been waiting for this far longer than she had. She would give them their moment and wait for Matthews to bring Wesker up to her, as eager was she was. And so she stood leaning against her doorframe, eavesdropping.

"Hello, Albert," Matthews softly but kindly greeted.

"Dr. Matthews."

"Please come in." Long Pause. "I did not think that you would ever come back."

"You told me not to, and I was disinclined to force the issue if I was unwanted." His voice was so flat and neutral that Claire feared the meeting below would only end in harsh feelings, but Matthews's tone remained friendly. His easygoing nature and insistence on being open despite whatever happened was holding the conversation together. Claire was sure that, if Wesker were choosing, the encounter would already be finished.

"You were never unwanted," Matthews sighed. "And I was a fool. Those words should never have left my mouth, and I futilely hope that one day you might forgive me for them. Regardless, you are here now, and I wanted you to know that I'm happy you came back."

"It's not on your account," Wesker stated, not cruelly, but matter-of-factly. "But I appreciate the care that you've given Miss Redfield. How is she?"

"Sick—very sick," Matthews sighed. "Her body's weak, and she spends much more time sleeping than she's accustomed to. I think it's best that you see to her now. She's probably anxiously waiting for you at the very top of the stairs," his voice raised as he completed the sentence so that Claire clearly heard him.

"Because there's something else for me to do!" she jokingly called back.

"She's in your room," Matthews told Wesker. "Perhaps later we could talk, but for now…" Claire heard them coming up the stairs and sat down on the bed to wait, for she wasn't going to drain her energy in pointless standing. Wesker was coming. He was in this house and coming towards his old room. Claire didn't know what she would say or do, especially in front of Matthews, but emotions rumbling in her chest. When Wesker stepped into the room, she couldn't help but release them. _This_ was the meeting that had plagued her imagination for months—not one where she was peppered with gunshot wounds.

"Claire," Wesker greeted.

"Hi, Albert," she returned.

"You'll be pleased to know that Chairman Michael Lance has met with an untimely death." Whatever else he might have said was cut short by Claire propelling herself off of the bed and into him. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and she pressed her face against his shoulder. Wesker froze before lifting his arms and holding her. It was incredibly unnatural to do before an audience, and Claire's launch had been unexpected.

"I don't care about Lance," Claire said. "I thought that maybe they'd gotten you with crimson. I thought they'd killed you." She was on the verge of tears and squeezing Wesker tightly. The worries from during her wait all seeped out as he held her, and Claire could only bury her nose deeper in his shirt and breath him. "I was terrified that I'd never see you again." She heard the floor lightly creak and lifted her head. Matthews was walking away to give them privacy, and he left her with a pleased but sadly distant smile. She sympathetically smiled back before Wesker turned and shut the door.

"Your eyes are amber," he commented. "Does Dr. Matthews know why?"

"He knows everything," Claire answered as she sat back down on the bed. Wesker shot her a stern, questioning glance and Claire nodded. "All the way back to Raccoon City, and he's the first one besides you to not grill me because of it."

"He always did keep confidences well," Wesker commented. His eyes trailed over his old room, and his face was blank.

"Does it feel strange to be back?" Claire asked. "There must be a lot of memories here."

"I am not one to reminisce." He planted his attention on her as he sat beside her on the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Horrible," she worriedly laughed. "But I'm less concerned with you here." Wesker lifted a hand and brushed hair way from the face of this precious find. "What are we going to do now?"

"I gathered more information on crimson, but I need to test your blood to see exactly what it's doing to you. The poison shouldn't be fatal, but it would be reprehensively if any permanent damage was done."

"So we're moving to a lab?" Claire asked and thought of the key around her neck. Wesker smirked and cupped her cheek.

"Those words have lost the apprehension that they once carried," he mockingly noted. She had also eagerly thrown herself into his embrace, and Wesker dwelled on the portent of these observations. His patience had paid off. Claire could read the unspoken thoughts on his blank face and lifted a hand to rest against the one that he held to her face. She closed her eyes and found herself being drawn closer to his body while her mouth decided to leave his current thoughts unanswered. She wasn't ready to leave everything behind. Her brother and friends still counted on her, and there was a world of suffering out there that she would not stand by and ignore. But she needed to tell him about her decision…

"Shall we leave then?" Wesker asked her.

"Can we stay for one more day?" she asked. "We're sitting in a bedroom in a pleasant neighborhood, a place with memories and kids running around outside…a loving caretaker who plays Uno with me and makes me laugh. You're holding me…"

"You still hold onto your dreams of a normal life," Wesker scoffed.

"No." And her words surprised Wesker. "Not anymore." And her arms locked around him. "If the last few months have taught me anything, it's that there's no going back to that, and I no longer want to either. I want something different now, but maybe I could pretend to have this for one day before I completely let the dream go. And I don't want to leave Matthews so soon when he has only been the most thoughtful person. I think he'd also like a last day."

"I'm glad that you've given more thought to your life," Wesker commented. He lifted her face toward his and ran a thumb over her lips. Claire could smell his hormones, yet he made no move to advance on her. She reached for his sunglasses, but he caught her hand and stopped her. "I will remove them if I wish," he stated. Claire withdrew her hand in annoyance and Wesker smirked. She leaned into him and he questioned her intentions by tracing light, circular patterns on side. The methodical touch was slow and contemplative, just like his state of mind.

"Be gentle," Claire said. She didn't care that she was weak and tired. She didn't even care if she peaked since she only craved the physical connection after months of his absence. The togetherness of their bodies was more comforting than she had ever known any experience to be.

Wesker laid her on the bed and carefully stripped her of clothing. Then his black attire fell to the floor beside hers and left him naked as he removed his sunglasses. He went to set them on the dresser but found a familiar, worn book already there. He ran a finger over the leather cover before setting his shades atop it and joining Claire in bed. His hands ran over her smooth flesh and through her hair as he kissed her. When he was done exploring her surface, he entered her and took her with as much tenderness as she had requested. Then they lay beneath the blankets with Claire on her side, curled against Wesker's front.

"Albert," Claire spoke after an hour of silent relaxation. "Do you remember when you asked me what I wanted to be?"

"Yes." His head was directly behind hers with his mouth at her ear.

"I've decided," she continued. "And I'd like to be yours. I don't know how that can work, but I don't regret feeling this way." Wesker said nothing. He only held her and was pleased that she felt the way that she did. She had come a long way since the college student that he had kidnapped, and maybe now she was ready to take their situation a step further, but he wouldn't assume that without more proof.

"I'm going to rest for a few more minutes," Claire said. "Then I promised Matthews that I'd help him make some salad…he's such a kind man, Albert. You're lucky that you ever had someone like him. Please don't be hard on him." She settled into the blankets, but neither of them slept. What had been shared between them required both to reevaluated their situations, and the silence was not uncomfortable for two people who had spent so much time together in such a state. Claire privately smiled into her pillow. Once, there had been a time when Wesker's silence had made her extremely uneasy.


	18. Chapter 18: Questions of Character

Chapter 18: Questions of Character

She wanted to be his. Wesker lay on his side, one arm wrapped around Claire, and allowed himself to simply enjoy the victory. Of course, her actions from before her admission had told him that she wanted to be with him, but admitting it was another matter entirely. And to say that she no longer regretted or wished away her emotions went beyond the former draw that she felt towards him. It meant that this wasn't purely a result of being influenced by him or a brief connection brought on through the isolation that they had shared. She had thought about their relationship for months, probably beating herself up a good deal, but her decision was in his favor. And Wesker knew how much Claire prized her feelings and loyalty, which meant that her desire to be close to him would not fade given future, long absences. That stubborn, determined streak of hers would also help hold her decision intact.

But this was only a commitment to emotionally bind herself to him, and that had Wesker wondering if she would choose to accompany him to Africa should he ask. He could not extend the invitation unless he was absolutely certain that Claire would side with him on all issues, for seeing his work up close might very well turn her away from him, or at least cause her moralistic side to report his location to authorities. No, wanting to be someone's and wanting to support them were different things, and Claire was well aware of the distinction.

Would she be a liability in Africa? Wesker wanted Claire to come with him as he had months ago. Because she was as personal and close as he had never before allowed someone to get, he wanted her nearby, and damn it if she wouldn't be the perfect assistant. But even if she refused to help him, so long as she would not hinder him either, her presence would be welcomed. Perhaps he could lure her to Africa through that concession, and then he'd turn on his persuasive efforts. Even if she didn't want to be, Wesker knew that Claire would inadvertently aid him if she was at his side, for she would watch his back due to her feelings and she could be useful in other, less obvious ways. Wesker had the upside of keeping her with him calculated out; she would be functional whether she wanted to be or not, and all the while acting as his closest confidant.

Wesker schemed away and toyed with ideas that might push Claire from wanting to be his to wanting to be on his side. This goal was the ultimate end practically, but maybe it wouldn't happen. Only time would tell, as it had with the issue of what she wanted to be, and Wesker was willing to wait. That left the more immediate issue of what to do with her after she was well. She would have the final decision, but even offering her to stay with him would require some trust on his part—trust that she wouldn't try to stop his plans, and that was no light matter. Wesker was successful at what he did because his distrust kept him a step ahead in planning.

The only way to gain total assurance that Claire would not act against him would be to have her complete some task counterintuitive to her, like killing Chris, and Wesker could guess how far that suggestion would go. He could almost feel Claire's fist colliding with his nose. There could be no task-related evidence here or blackmail, but for once, maybe it wasn't needed. Taking her along would be based on her emotional bond to him, and although he knew that such ties were more powerful than blackmail, he hesitated. No one had ever formed a mutual bond with him, and so basing his decisions on such a thing increased his caution.

_You'll risk it._

_Maybe. I need to think about it. _

But he had known his decision from the moment that he'd mailed her the key. He touched the metal necklace with the dog tag and house key that was looped around Claire's neck. This was another well-planned gamble, like anything in his life, but if he lost this one, he couldn't find a replacement or go to plan B. There wasn't another Claire, and his chances of ever finding someone to remotely trust as he did her were next to none. He smirked mockingly at his own train of thought, for Claire had once been frustrated by her desire to trust him and now he found himself wanting to trust her too. He'd never trusted or wanted to trust anyone since Matthews. Maybe he was no longer capable of doing so, and he considered that to be a high possibility considering the lessons that he had learned since joining Umbrella.

Claire rolled in his arms and gazed up at him with a contented expression. He'd allow her this last day before she erased her former dreams. It could do no harm, and the gratitude had been on her lips when she kissed him. He wouldn't reverse that by pointlessly denying a simple request.

One of her hands slipped under his. It was strange to have a woman so honestly and solidly express her desire to belong with him. He could have coerced another woman into doing the same, but it would have required manipulative acting on his part, and a lot of it. Here was Claire, who had seen his actual life and behavior, and she had found something in that worth pursuing. He'd ask her about that one day, but for now he planted a light kiss on her neck. Claire was beautiful in her ability to retain strength while melding to another person. It was a feat that Wesker only understood in theory.

She wanted to be his.

_Ah, dear heart, you have been for a long time. _

**********

"Claire, is there anything that I can make you?" Matthews asked. He and Claire stood in the kitchen, slicing vegetables for a salad. He worked on lettuce while Claire chopped carrots. Wesker stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame and watching them. It was clear that Claire and Matthews had grown into rather close friends, and he listened to them banter and work with an observational bent. He had no desire to join them, and he was only staying to satisfy Claire.

Matthews made Claire laugh, and his elderly face split into a large grin not unlike hers. He was a very kind man; he always had been, and Wesker recalled how he had once stood where Claire was, helping prepare food. He recalled equally well the sting of rejection when Matthews had told him never to return, but he harbored no ill will against his former guardian. Wesker had understood the growing distance between them and knew that his goals and character had become incompatible with his caregiver's, and he could not fault the kind man when he himself disposed of people for lesser frustrations than what he'd caused Matthews.

Matthews was concerned about getting Wesker's forgiveness, but there was none to ask for. Wesker only felt indifferent as he stood in his old home, even as memories flew in and out of his head. Some of them were the happiest moments of his life, but those memories belonged to a different time. Happiness would no longer arise from unwrapping new books or playing cards on rainy days. His energy was fixed on winning, and that would be the ultimate satisfaction to trump the others. Maybe it wouldn't bring happiness, but he didn't much care, for he'd be more powerful than anything in existence. There was nothing to be forgiven or dwelled upon. He did not view the world as a happy or caring place, and he did not expect to be treated as if it were.

Wesker lingered on Claire's entertained expression before moving into the living room to stand at the window and watch several kids ride by on their bikes. He had never been free to play like that given the differences between himself and other kids his age, but sometimes he had stood here and watched them ride, wondering what life would be like if things were different. There was no denying that Wesker could feel, but so many former thoughts and openness, even the desire to be cared about by someone, had disappeared. Matthews's actions had once hurt him, and then it had turned to anger, and finally hardened into acceptance and neutrality. Claire was nothing like that, and she wouldn't allow herself to be. He had forgotten what it was like to be cared about before she had entered his life.

"Claire, would you kindly chop those tomatoes?" Matthews was asking. "Thanks." Wesker heard the retire professor enter the living room walk towards him. "She's quite the woman, Albert." Matthews stood beside him at the window while wiping his hands on a towel. "She completely trusted you when you said that you'd come for her, but I had my doubts."

"Miss Redfield and I have our understandings," Wesker curtly replied.

"So it seems," Matthews sighed, knowing that this conversation was going to be forced. "I wasn't sure what to think when she came here to learn more about you. I thought that maybe you'd played her and she was some love struck girl who was fooled by your outward charms, but once she started talking…well, she's not what I would have expected. And you keeping her isn't what I'd have expected either, but I'm glad for what's happened." Worry suddenly creased his face. "You will take good care of the faith that she's place in you, won't you? Of all the things that you've done, hurting Claire is perhaps the one that I'd loathe the most."

"I cannot give you any assurances," Wesker mocked. "And tell me, Dr. Matthews, is what you're looking for by talking to me for your redemption or mine? You always put such stock in common notions of salvation and peace." There was an edge to his words, and he suddenly recalled why he and the doctor had frequently argued as he got older. Their mindsets were polar opposites.

"Perhaps for both of us," Matthews allowed. "But I am more concerned about you than myself. Does what you do give you peace of mind?"

"You would ask that," Wesker disdainfully drawled. He was already finding this conversation tiresome. "What I am and do does not bother me, and I guarantee that I sleep more soundly than you do. I stand where I am without regrets, Dr. Matthews, and unlike you, I don't get caught up in sentimental drabble. It is irrelevant, and it profits me nothing."

"You used to prize the notions of us common 'idiots'," Matthews scoffed. "Once you sat in this very room, begging me to come look at your finished puzzle because people meant something to you."

"I was a child, and I had yet to learn how the world worked."

"And if what you were then is pointless, then why is Claire with you? Look, I am an old man, Albert. I'm not here to debate or argue with you. Quite frankly, I know that you're set in your ways as much as I am in mine."

"Then what are you hear to talk about?" Wesker asked.

"Because like Claire, I care about you. You can call us fools until you're blue in the face, but it doesn't change the fact that you're here, and I'm going to have this last conversation with the son that I wish had stayed. Forget the issue of forgiveness and what happened between us, because I think that Claire's more important than my regrets. She's here now, with you, and I don't understand how, but the two of you have something beyond the coolness that I expect from you. And you can lie to yourself, but I think you're a man above that."

"Are you finished?" Wesker demanded.

"No, would you like some salad or not?" Matthews question caught Wesker off guard, and he turned to stare questioningly at his adoptive father. Once they would have tenaciously debated the current conversational topic for some time.

"You've mellowed," Wesker noted.

"So have you. You'd think that zombies and conspiracies would rattle me into activity, but not this time. Perhaps both of us have grown a little too indifferent to the world and the suffering around us," Matthews sighed. "I know that you'll keep doing whatever you've been up to, and Claire may end up dead. I can't change that, or anything really. I just do a lot of talking, but I don't want to see you dispose of something as precious as Claire. Even the hardest men need someone to remind them that there's more to life than playbooks."

Matthews turned away and reentered the kitchen to help Claire finish the salad while Wesker remained where he was. Claire _was_ in his playbook, but for once, he and Matthews agreed on something: Claire wasn't only in the playbook, and that was what made her unique and worth the effort to keep.


	19. Chapter 19: Another Problem, Another Lab

I know that this chapter is short, and my posting might slow down a little. For both, I apologize, but I happen to be very sick at the moment. Thanks for the reviews as the story builds towards it close.

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Chapter 19: Another Problem, Another Lab

"We're leaving," Claire stated. She stood before Matthews, outside of her room. Wesker was downstairs, waiting for her by the door while she said her goodbyes. "Thank you for everything, and I won't forget you. I've got your phone number, so I promise to stay in touch." Those words rolled pleasantly off of her tongue, for she hadn't met many people like Matthews whom she could count as a long-term friend. He would be an open ear that she could depend on.

"Take care of yourself, Claire," Matthews instructed as he gave her a friendly hug. "And please take care of him." Claire smiled sadly as he released her and placed hands on her shoulders. "I'm serious. You're all that he has, even if he doesn't see it. One day everything around him might crash, and that's when he'll either see what counts or end with nothing. I hope that you're there with him when it happens, and I don't mean that in a negative sense."

"I know," Claire said. "You have no idea what your sincerity has meant to me." She lifted a leather book and held it out to him. "And thanks for letting me borrow this. I really enjoyed it." Matthews pushed the book back toward her.

"Keep it." Claire wordlessly nodded in appreciation and they went downstairs. She wanted a happy goodbye, but unspoken melancholy hung in the air as the three of them faced one another.

"Ready?" Wesker asked.

"Yes. Goodbye, Isaac."

"Goodbye, Claire. Goodbye, Albert."

"Dr. Matthews," Wesker acknowledged before opening the door. Claire caught the brief, hurt expression on Matthews's face as Wesker turned his back and walked away. Her sorrowful eyes apologized for her companion, even though she had no power to do so. Whatever had passed between father and son had obviously not gone smoothly, but it wasn't her place to interfere in the matter. She trailed behind Wesker and opened her side of the car.

"You're welcome here anytime!" Matthews shouted as the car started. Claire waved and Wesker began reversing the car out of the driveway. Once they reached the freeway, he passed her a new set of sunglasses to conceal her still abnormal eyes. Claire graciously set them on her nose and pulled her hair into a ponytail.

"Where exactly are we going? Which lab?" she asked.

"That depends on how well your body handles the trip. Are you up for a longer distance?" Claire lazily ran fingers over the book on her lap.

"I think so. Sitting in the car doesn't take much energy, and as long as you're driving, I can sleep when I need to. Actually, a nap doesn't seem like a bad idea," and she yawned. "So where is the lab?"

"Maine." Claire quieted, reclined her seat, and turned her head toward Wesker. Her eyes trailed over his smooth, passive face, slicked, blond hair, shades…she privately smiled. "Yes, dear heart?" Wesker asked.

"I read the poem. You were right; it's very fitting." There was no response, and Claire stared at the ceiling. Her body demanded rest, yet she didn't want to sleep. She had barely been returned to Wesker for a day, and she didn't know how long their time together would last this round. Would he press her for a decision once she had recovered? Claire sighed.

"Rest," Wesker stated. "I'll wake you once we get to the airport."

"Rest…" Claire mused. She hoped that Dr. Matthews would get some mental rest now that he and Wesker had spoken. He certainly deserved it. "You didn't tell him whether or not you forgave him, did you?" Wesker did not answer. "Are you still angry with him?"

"No, dear heart, and what passed between us is done. We both made our decisions and must now live with them." Claire considered Matthews one of the most considerate people that she had ever met. If Wesker had turned out as he had despite such a man, then what had molded him into who he was? Claire wanted to know and yet she didn't. Mostly she wanted Wesker to feel comfortable enough to share it with her, but even if he was, there was still only a remote chance that he'd ever tell her.

"Do you think that you'd be another person if things had gone differently? I mean if your childhood had been different." Wesker smirked.

"Possibly. Everyone is impacted by his or her childhood, but we don't get to choose what kind we have, and I would never attribute my decisions to it." Claire was staring at him again, and he briefly turned to look at her. "Dear heart, you're probing into an area that is long dead and irrelevant. Much has happened since I was young."

"Yeah—zombies, monsters, viruses, plots—your life has been a bundle of fun since your career started," Claire sarcastically jested. Her eyes were drooping now, and her muscles felt heavy. They lay unmoving on her lap, but she was accustomed to this by now. Her body seemed to go through cycles of fairly normal to completely drained, and this was the part where she slept to replenish herself. If it helped her body fight back the poison, she wouldn't argue, and so she closed her eyes. "Wake me up soon," she requested and then slid away.

**********

"Dear heart," Wesker's voice called from a distance. Claire groaned and groggily shook her head from side to side. She was somewhere dark, but suddenly lights flashed on, and she closed her eyes against their glaring brightness. Blindly, she ran her hands over the surface beneath her. It was soft and warm, and her head rested on a mound of feathery lightness. This was definitely not the car. Realization dawned that she was in a bed, tucked under blankets, and her reactions felt delayed, sluggish.

Someone dimmed the lights, and she ventured opening her eyes. It would have been easier and more comfortable to keep them closed, but she needed to see what was happening. She was in a gray room bare of everything but a double bed, dresser, and desk. Wesker stood at the foot of the bed, patiently watching her emerge from slumber. Claire had no idea how she had come to be in this room, but with him here she knew that she wasn't in danger. Her tenseness eased and she stretched her cramped muscles. She was drowsy enough that she did not register how strange it was for her infected body to have muscle pains like this.

"When did we get here?" she asked as she sat up against the headboard.

"You don't remember?" Wesker questioned.

"I remember being in the car. You said that we were going to Maine."

"That was over a day ago," Wesker stated, and Claire's face contorted in shock. "I didn't mean to startle you, Claire, but you were exhausted when we reached the airport, and I did not wish to have the trip stress your currently fragile system. So I gave you a few sedatives to make the journey easier."

"Oh, come on," Claire frowned. "I'm not that fragile. I did manage to stay alert when we were with Dr. Matthews."

"You've forgotten a few events," Wesker said as he walked closer to her side. "When I was pumping gas, you started to whimper in your sleep and I had problems waking you up. By the time we reached the airport, you could barely walk." Claire couldn't believe her ears, for she didn't recall anything of what he was telling her. Wait. She seemed to remember a fuzzy dream of clinging to Wesker's body as he helped her up a flight of stairs. And there was a vague image of him drawing blood from her. She checked the inside of her elbow and found a small pinprick there.

"How am I now?" she questioned as she swung her feet over the side of the bed, determined to test her strength, but Wesker stopped her. A firm hand held her shoulder and gently pushed her back onto the bed.

"The sedatives are still wearing off, so you're not quite yourself," Wesker cautioned. "Rest while I run a few tests to see what's happening." When he had first seen Claire at Matthews's house, he had not thought crimson to be a serious threat, but her recent behavior suggested otherwise. She had moved past common signs of sickness like nausea to an overall weakening of her body. He watched her rearrange herself on the bed and settle into the blankets to relax before heading for the door.

"Albert, crimson is doing a lot of damage, isn't it?" Claire asked.

"It's nothing that can't be solved."

"Always confident," Claire smiled. Wesker cocked a subdued smirk.

"There is a phone to your right. It will automatically connect you to my lab. Use it if you need to." He shut the door behind him, leaving Claire by herself. She examined the sparsely designed room and knew for certain that she was in an old Umbrella base. There were probably few or no other scientists here since Wesker was not on good terms with the Agency and Claire was disabled. She flinched as the word 'disabled' ran through her mind. She did not want to think of herself as disabled, but…she wondered if Wesker had video cameras in the room. _It's an Umbrella base, stupid_. Right. Of course there were cameras, but that didn't stop her.

Claire slowly stood and checked her balance. Her legs were shaky, that was certain, and she did not like the way that her insides lurched with activity. Her limbs felt like iron shackles were hanging from them and dragging her down, and a strange sensation of pinpricks ran up her spine. She quickly retreated to the bed and flopped onto the mattress. She hated feeling helpless. It reminded her of the times that the team had rescued her because she had bitten off more than she could chew. Her reassurance was that Wesker was here, and he would watch over her until this passed, if it passed. She wallowed away somewhere between boredom and sleepiness while Wesker analyzed data from his tests. The results were not what he expected.


	20. Chapter 20: Assurances

Chapter 20: Assurances

Wesker sat at the computer station and poured over sheets of data. A frown creased his usually stoic face as he typed a command into the computer, telling it to rerun the tests. According to the initial results, crimson was destroying cells, which is what he had expected, but there were abnormalities. The poison targeted any cells that had alterations similar to what t-virus would cause, and Claire's entire body had absorbed Alexia's virus, hence her weakness as crimson ravaged her system. But according to the Agency's research reports, crimson was a temporary hindrance when applied to something as powerful as a tyrant. It had taken only forty-eight hours for a tyrant to begin recovery, so why was Claire getting worse?

Wesker did not like what he was seeing. It appeared that crimson was not only killing cells, but purging them of the virus. The rate of cell death was decreasing, but cell conversion was increasing. Crimson was implanting itself into Claire's cells and rearranging the structure to reject viral mutations. The mutations were actually being reversed, leaving healthy, human cells in their place.

Wesker's muscles tightened, but there was nothing nearby convenient enough to damage. He settled for gripping the arms of his chair as he considered what could be done. If crimson's course remained unobstructed, Claire might return to being a normal human, and Wesker did not want to see that happen. If she were a vulnerable human, she'd be far less useful and would require more protection to keep nearby. His logical side had difficulty justifying her retention when she might become a susceptible target for his enemies, and he didn't want to see Claire reduced to being someone's tool against him. She was meant to be an equal player against his opponents, not a liability.

This was the most inopportune time for something like this to happen. Claire had only recently admitted to desiring him, and had finally banished her old dreams of a normal life. Now that she didn't want to go back, the chance might be offered to her. Wesker tapped his fingers on the desk and urged the computer to recalculate faster.

Claire wanted him, pure and simple. She hadn't even mentioned that tiresome brother of hers since they'd rejoined, and he had yet to see one of her troubled, distanced expressions that signaled an inner conflict. Damn it if he hadn't been on the verge of extending a new offer to her, and so Wesker's displeased mood darkened even further. Now Claire might find herself in the compromising position of having stunted abilities. For a split second, Wesker experienced a sense of loss, but then it was gone, replaced by looking for a solution.

There was a simple way to solve this, for crimson was only doing damage because it was converting cells after having already weakened Claire's body. If he injected her with a fresh concentration of virus, crimson wouldn't stand a chance. It would be washed out of her system as a powerful virus re-infected altered cells and revitalized her remaining, predominately viral system.

Claire's body had readily accepted Umbrella's genetic cocktails before, and there was no reason that it would not easily incorporate a heavy, viral dosage now. Of course something primitive like t-virus would never have the desired results, but luckily, there was a potent source from which to harvest advanced viral strains. Wesker retrieved a syringe and drew blood from his body. He also carried the virus that had turned Claire, and his samples would be the fastest way to recreate a concentrated dosage.

He placed his blood into a machine and entered instructions while he rolled down his black sleeve. He watched the computer screen compile new data and tapped the desk impatiently. The thought of Claire becoming human irritated him. It was a sign that he was not invulnerable, for crimson might have affected him in a similar manner, and he hated the idea of Claire losing her edge. It was her potential that had always allowed him to rationalize her presence and place in his plans. Without her skills...

The machine beeped and announced that it was ready for further instructions. Wesker wasted no time in continuing his task, for it would take massive amounts of work to complete, but given another day and constant vigil, the sample would be ready. It was imperative that the dosage be finished as soon as possible. If Claire lost too much of her viral self before being reinfected, she might become aware of what was happening to her, and Wesker did not want to risk her forsaken desires reemerging. Opportunities for normality might revive old ideals, and that could not happen when he had waited this long for her to change her mind.

He worked for nine hours before the phone rang. Claire wanted to know if he could get her some food since she was hungry—another sign of returning to a more human condition. Wesker retrieved canned soup for her and then went back to work; adamantly refusing to tell Claire was what going on. He only mentioned that he was working on an antidote.

Another nine hours passed, but progress was being made.

He was transferring a vial of virus into a machine for analysis when it occurred to him that his plan was more complicated than he had first recognized. He would be infecting Claire with a mixture of Alexia's virus and the original virus that Birkin had given him. That would put him and Claire on the same playing field virus wise, and hence, their power level would be about the same. He had protected against such an occurrence during her initial infection by injecting himself with a higher dosage of Alexia's virus, and that had merely boosted his already advanced system. That advantage might be thrown out the window in order to preserve Claire, but when had she ever threatened him? Maybe before, but now their situation was of a nature where she did not want to see him harmed. She had even refused to damage him when he had incited her in a test of strength, and that had been months ago. Wesker decided that he would salvage her superhuman body, but the debate was very much along the same lines of whether or not to invite Claire to Africa. He wanted to demand a test of the resolve behind her professed bond to him.

It was beginning to edge onto the twentieth straight hour of work when Wesker held up a syringe filled with a concentrated virus.

**********

"I feel incredibly useless," Claire muttered as Wesker carried her down a flight of stairs and into the laboratory. He was carrying her bridal style, and she wrapped arms around his neck for support. She couldn't help but feel apprehensive as she viewed the cylindrical, glass column at the room's center. It was a holding tank for specimens, and she hated how it conjured memories of seeing tyrants in suspended animation at other labs, but Wesker's strong scent soothed her nerves. _Besides_, she reprimanded herself, _this tank is empty_.

"Am I here for more testing, or have you found a solution?" Claire eagerly asked. She was anxious for her condition to improve—a point that being carried to the lab had drilled home. She was sick of being a dependent, and she hopefully looked to Wesker for help as he carefully set her down on a lab table and instructed her to roll up her sleeve.

"Crimson will destroy you, Miss Redfield," he stated. "But I've made a antidote that should reverse your fortunes." Claire allowed herself a sigh of relief as Wesker retrieved a syringe from a storage refrigerator and approached her. She held her arm out expectantly, and Wesker gently supported her limb with a hand beneath the elbow where the needle would penetrate. His fingers caressed the side of her arm, but he did not use the syringe. He merely stood there, stroking her skin and hesitating. Claire looked up at him, unsure of why he wasn't continuing, but he was blank-faced and the sunglasses hid his eyes. She had no idea what he was thinking.

"Albert?" she questioned. She did not see but felt his eyes shift to her face. "Is something wrong?" She feared that the solution he'd found might be high-risk, and she grew more troubled as he released her elbow and moved his hand to her face. She leaned into his touch and accepted the comfort lest he reveal harsh information. Instead, he cradled her cheek and spoke softly of an unexpected topic.

"Dear heart, if you had to surrender something precious to be with me, would you?" Claire continued to ease into his hand and fixed her attention on his sunglasses.

"I already have, haven't I?" she asked, hoping that Wesker wasn't somehow alluding to Chris or her friends. Wesker tantalizingly ran fingers along her jaw and across her lips.

"But it wasn't your choice, and the results have taken away your desire for a normal life. Is being inhuman a worthwhile price to pay for what we have?" Claire closed her eyes and felt Wesker's hand move away from her face.

"Yes," she stated without any reservations. Her eyelids slid open to find him intensely scrutinizing her without his sunglasses on. The redness of his eyes penetrated the amber of hers and prevented Claire from looking anywhere else.

"You truly mean that, don't you, dear heart?" he said, but more to himself than Claire. "And you know that there's an even uglier price attached to me, but you aren't recanting…"

"None of this would mean anything if it was easy," Claire stated. "Difficulties have never held me back before, and they can't change what I feel." Wesker's intensity lessened, and he lifted her arm and emptied the syringe into her flesh. Claire did not understand his recent questioning of her intensions, but she had a vague sense of having met his approval. She could think about it later. For now, she was concentrating on the burning sensation rocketing up her arm.

"You should be fully restored soon," Wesker assured her. "Take off your clothing." Claire gaped at him in shocked surprise, and Wesker sarcastically smirked. "I'm not asking for sex," he commented with an amused tone. "Because the process happening inside of you might require some regulation, I've decided to place you in suspended animation."

"I am not going in that tank!" Claire argued. "I'm not going to unconsciously float around in an Umbrella lab!" Wesker threateningly towered over her and placed his hands against the table on either side of her.

"This is in your best interest, and we are alone. I am the only person who will monitor you, and I promise to give the utmost care. Now strip or I'll do it for you." Claire crossed her legs defiantly, and Wesker again smirked. "Your choice," he said, and began unzipping her pants.

"Stop!" she ordered and began removing her own clothing. "I don't need you to get any ideas while my health's endangered."

"I am being most professional," Wesker mockingly countered as he watched her shirt and underclothing fall to the floor. With a hand around her waist to support her, he led her to the tank and opened a barely-visible panel on its side. Claire stepped into the cylinder with a frown and allowed Wesker to hook her up to several tubes and wires.

"Am I ready to go?" she asked. "Let's finish this before I change my mind." Wesker connected the last tube and stepped back.

"You'll be fine," he said.

"I know." Claire watched him seal the tank and move to the computers. There was a soft hissing noise, and then liquid began filling in around her feet. It rapidly rose toward her hips, then her chest. The thick, watery substance was cold, she realized, and it was a strange revelation. She hadn't felt cold in so long that it took her some time to understand what she was feeling. The only way that she could feel cold was if…she watched Wesker working at the computer, and suddenly something warm entered her arm. She was having trouble staying conscious, but her eyes remained fixed on him until the last moments.

She could feel cold. Wesker was going to make the coldness stop. She scrunched her face as dizziness began to play with her head. Blackness circled around the rims of her vision, and she could no longer feel her legs or arms. _He didn't tell you_, but she couldn't say that she hadn't given him permission. Instead of anger, she was aware of a sense of relief that he cared enough to do this. By the time the liquid reached her head, Claire Redfield was gone.


	21. Chapter 21: I Love You

Chapter 21: I Love You

The lab was silent but for the faint humming of machines through the darkness, and computer screens scattered bluish light across the desks and lab instruments, creating long, angular shadows. Bathed in silence and dull colors, someone like Claire would have called this place lonely, even disturbing with the Umbrella logos that faded in and out of view with the flashing red of security cameras. The red dots rhythmically flared in the darkest corners of the room like heartbeats, but the knowledge of being recorded did not bother Wesker. He had a different word to describe such a scene: tranquil.

The computer nearest him cast Wesker's features in sharp relief as he reclined. His sunglasses sat on the desk beside him, and his arms rested laxly across his lap as his eyes trailed to his laptop's clock. Three days had passed since suspending Claire, and he had kept a constant vigil over her unconscious body. He was pleased with the results that he was seeing, for the virus from his system was combating and destroying crimson. Every minute that went by meant more of Claire succumbed to the virus, and, as suspected, she was not mutating.

Wesker stood and strode toward the tank. It was the most conspicuous object in the room since floor lights encircled its base, encasing it in light and making it a beacon of brightness in the otherwise dark space. Claire's red hair gently swayed around her naked body, trailing over cream colored shoulders and occasionally wrapping around one of the tubes connected to her arms and chest. Wesker walked forward until he was only a few inches from the glass and captured by the unearthly, greenish glow of the illuminated liquid around Claire. His eyes trailed over her serene features and slender limbs. She really was a lovely a woman.

Regulation of her body was necessary to preserve her human appearance, and Wesker had been doing so by systematically infusing her with minimal doses of virus. Her infection level was steadily rising under his directing hand. Given another day or two, she'd be ready to come out of the tank, and she'd be more adept and powerful than ever. Wesker took pride in the work that he was doing with Claire and wondered if this process might work with other people—not that he had any intentions of creating more super humans. It was an accident, albeit a now welcomed one, that Claire had survived her exposure to Alexia's virus, and he would not tolerate the existence of anything or one as powerful as they had become. It was too risky, but he was curious as to why Claire had not mutated where many of the test subjects in Brazil had.

_Beep. Beep. Beep_.

Wesker returned to his desk and sat facing his laptop. A window had appeared, alerting him to an incoming transmission. He recognized the line that the caller was using and accepted the connection after putting his sunglasses back in place. The screen blackened and then Excella's upper body appeared. She was sitting in her office and wearing a silky, green dress.

"Ah, the lovely Miss Gionne," Wesker greeted. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Dr. Wesker," she purred. "I assume that you've been very busy, and I hope that I haven't interrupted anything." Wesker's eyes flashed toward the tank, but his shades hid the movement from Excella.

"I'm looking after sensitive business interests," he stated. "But how can I help you, Miss Gionne?" She was a woman who only called if she thought that she could gain something from it.

"Straight to the point as always, Wesker," she smiled. "Unlike you, I do not mind mixing business with pleasure, but I have called for a reason. I thought you'd be interested to know that your test subject has been showing irregular, very defiant behavior despite the increase in cognitive functioning. I had to put it down. I'm sure that you understand." Wesker was surprised to hear of the death, but he expressionlessly accepted the news.

"Have you pinpointed why the control serum did not work?" he asked.

"We're working on it, but I have no doubts that I'll have an answer for you soon. Perhaps adding an agent to already infected subjects will not work. The new virus strain may be the only acceptable course of action. Either way, I did not want you to think that I take your test subjects lightly. Tossing it into the sewer was the last resort."

"I trust your judgment," Wesker stated. He checked the time and realized that he had to give Claire her next viral dosage. "If you'll excuse me, I have immediate duties that call, but I appreciate the report, Miss Gionne. You are most helpful."

"Don't stay away too long," Excella smiled before the screen blackened. Wesker shut the laptop and reviewed the conversation. He had not given her his contact information, but she had found it. She was undoubtedly trying to show him how resourceful she was, but Wesker had never doubted her abilities. If she was trying to appeal to him and get closer to his work, she was following a very precise and skillful track. He'd have his eye on her and see where their partnership led as they neared unleashing the work that TriCell was aiding. He might keep her around for some time if she proved this tenacious and tactful in furthering his plans.

His attention returned to Claire as he commanded the computer to inject virus into her system. He again approached the tank and watched the purplish-red virus seep down the tubes and into her body. He noticed that her eyelids were fluttering, the eyes beneath jerking sporadically in REM sleep. He wondered what Claire was dreaming about, for every time that he examined her, she seemed to be locked in that stage of sleep. Sometimes her hands clenched into fists or her head jerked to the side. Wesker guessed that she was having nightmares again, but there was nothing for her to fear.

*************

_"Wesker?" Claire called. She felt like she'd been through this so many times that her pathway should be permanently worn into the carpet. She walked across the floor toward Wesker's back and gently touched his hand to draw his attention. He turned to her and Claire's breath caught in her throat. _

"_Are you ready then, dear heart?" What? This wasn't how the dream went. She might not have been to this place since Wesker had saved her from Johann, but this was definitely not what she remembered happening. _

"_Am I ready for what?" she asked. Wesker smiled tauntingly. _

"_One thing tends to lead to another," he said, and then seemed content to wait until she figured it out. Claire thought about the implications of his question with the half-veiled clarity of dreams and found herself extremely uncomfortable. Something was out of place. Wasn't this dream a bad one? She tried to remember what she was dreading when the door to the bedroom was violently thrown open. The loud crack made Claire's head spin, and then Chris was there._

"_Get away from my sister!" he shouted, and his gun fired. Claire began crying even before Wesker stumbled and fell. She remembered now. This was why she absolutely detested this dream. Why did it need to feel new every single time? Each time it was unexpected when the gun fired and someone died. Each time, it had to rip a new hole in her heart. Frustration peaked as she knelt and held Wesker's bloody hands. _

"_Claire, what the hell?" Chris demanded. "Why?" Claire shook her head, distracted by a strange warm feeling around her body. A series of sharp stings pricked her arms, chest, and legs. Someone was calling her name, but it was too distant to respond to. "Claire! Why?" Why? Claire pressed her lips to Wesker's cold forehead, but it felt insubstantial. The floor seemed to be falling out from underneath her. Everything was losing its shape, and the voice calling her name was now vying against Chris for her attention._

"_Claire," it insisted._

"_Why?" Chris yelled back. Claire flinched. She wanted to respond to the first voice, but she owed her brother an answer. _

"_Claire, wake up." Okay. Claire felt warm hands on her face, brushing wet hair away from her nose and mouth. The touch was familiar. She could no longer see her dream. It had vanished, but Chris was still yelling. _

"_WHY?!" _

Claire gasped and air rushed into her lungs for the first time in days. Chris's demanding voice resounded throughout her head—why, why, why—and she struggled to force her words out. He had to know, even if he didn't understand. He was still her brother, and she cared for him deeply. Her mouth gently opened.

"Because I love him." The simple phrase left her lips like a softly whispered prayer before her eyes snapped open. Wesker was holding her at the foot of the now empty tank where she had been residing, and she could see him so clearly that it took her a moment to realize that the room was fairly dark. She was soaking wet and wrapped in a towel, Wesker supporting her head with his forearm as she leaned against him. Time seemed suspended as she stared up at him and he down at her. Something about the calm, softened set to his face struck her as the perfect image of him, and she was content to stay where she was and behold it. She wondered if he knew. If he did, he wasn't going to say anything, and Claire wasn't inclined to broach the subject either.

"Albert," she said. "You look like an idiot with those sunglasses on in here." Wesker smiled and helped her to her feet.

"Welcome back, dear heart." Claire found that her body was steady as she stood and tested herself. Her hearing, sight, and smell easily separated the different elements within the room, and the coldness was gone. Hell, she felt like she could run for days without getting tired. She grinned.

"I feel normal," she stated. Wesker's head snapped toward her.

"What?" he questioned, but he relaxed when he saw Claire carefully sniffing the air, seeing what was around.

"Am I completely better now?" she asked him.

"That's one way to put it, but I believe that improvements are always possible." Claire rolled her eyes and placed her hands on her hips.

"And I suppose you'll want to run some more tests to see how the virus is affecting me post-crimson." Wesker leaned against a lab table in a causal manner that somehow still retained a dark, predatory overtone. Yet he meant her no harm, and he was damn handsome standing like that. The upward tilt of his lips told Claire that he was amused by her irritated words, and he waited for her to defiantly try to tell him that she wasn't going to do his tests after being treated like a specimen. Oh, she was most certainly going to tell him. The tests could wait for tomorrow after what she'd been through. Not everyone was a workaholic. Wesker stood there, arched eyebrows and all, waiting for it, and looking nothing like the callously ambitious man that he was, even if that was always directly beneath the surface. At times like these, Claire understood exactly why she felt the way that she did.


	22. Chapter 22: The Offer

All right, I hope that everyone likes this. This was one of the more difficult chapters to write. Enjoy!

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Chapter 22: The Offer

Claire stepped out of the shower and dressed herself in a pair of black pants and a t-shirt. Her eyes had returned to their former blue coloring, but there was a high concentration of amber around the pupils. When light caught her irises just right, they shone as if solid gold, but it was a trick of the reflective specks. She peered at herself closely in the mirror. The change was certainly noticeable, and it appeared to be permanent, but she could move about normal people without too much of a problem. She was not sure why the gold was present when she wasn't emotional or in pain, but she had formulated a plausible idea that she intended to ask Wesker about.

Claire easily found her way through the many corridors to the lab where she had been stored. She lightly descended the metal staircase leading toward the tables and computers, hands stuffed in her pockets. Wesker stood leaning over a desk as he concentrated on a computer that was running diagnostics on Claire's blood and tissue samples. Claire sat down nearby and pulled out her unnamed poetry book. The little leather volume opened on her lap and she perused its contents since Wesker seemed content to ignore her for the time being. She didn't want to interrupt him when he was lost in his own world.

They'd been here for three days since her awakening, and Claire was increasingly aware that her body was not exactly the same as it had been. Besides her eyes having permanent mutations, she had an easier time accessing her powers. Wesker had fought her yesterday, and she had given him a run for his money. Exerting inhuman force with her attacks was a much more fluid process than in her former viral state, but she had still been unable to keep Wesker at bay until she was critically injured. It appeared that her emotional state still held sway over her, but most people weren't Wesker, and so her basic abilities would be enough to easily beat the average person.

She was amazed that she had punched a hole in a metal wall yesterday, but it meant little to her. Power didn't excite her. She was just relieved that she was no longer sick and could still keep up with Wesker. Her fingers flipped a page in the book and a whiff of the old parchment hit her nose, causing her to relax with a pleasant smile. Old book was a wonderful smell, and it had once been her favorite. Her eyes traveled to Wesker's stern features. Now she could think of at least one scent that she preferred.

Suddenly she wasn't in the mood to read anymore, and the book was set aside as she walked toward Wesker. She glanced over his shoulder to look at the computer screen. It was split in half, but both sides displayed images of cells that appeared identical.

"Is that my blood?" Claire asked.

"On the right," Wesker stated. Claire looked at him questioningly, but he didn't acknowledge her. Instead he kept working, but Claire didn't need his answer. She had been right, and the reality floored her.

"You made a viral sample against crimson from your own blood," she said. "That's why I'm stronger…" Wesker could hear the disbelief in her voice and straightened from his leaning position to look at her. "Are we the same then?" she asked.

"When it comes to genetic mutations, we're almost identical."

"I was wondering why the fight yesterday felt more even," she mused. "But I can't use my full force at will like you can…"

"I said that we're almost identical," Wesker repeated. "Your body has responded slightly different than my system, but the explanation as to why is rather complicated." He clicked a few buttons and wiped the computer system clean of the research that he had concluded. He didn't want any traces of his own condition or Claire's to remain and fall into the wrong hands. "What is puzzling you, dear heart?" he finally asked, as she stood there, blank-faced.

"Nothing," she said, but she was wondering why he had risked making someone as powerful as himself. It was a step that she had doubted he'd take, but her face eased into a peaceful expression. She didn't have a definite answer, but she did know that he wanted her with him, and that was the only driving motive that she could find. The thought that he trusted her enough to not feel threatened by her power gain sent a burst of calmness through her. Her fingers mindlessly traveled to a notebook sitting atop the table beside her, and she started to trace the umbrella logo imprinted on the cover as darker thoughts entered her head. Wesker's confidence in her also brought pressure, for Claire knew how fragile the trust of a man like him was, and she didn't want to jeopardize it.

"How much longer do we have?" she asked. Wesker was packing his laptop into a leather bag. "I'm sure that you'll return to work soon." Her fingers continued to weave over the logo as Wesker set his bag on the table and walked closer to her. The room was only dimly lit, but it did not hinder their vision. She glanced at him, and her attention was arrested by the serious, contemplative expression that he wore.

"I can spare one more day," he stated. "Beyond that, it is still your decision." Claire's hand stopped moving and she breathed deeply.

"You'd still take me with you?" she asked. "After I left last time, and when I'm working for Terrasave—when Chris is out there battling your cause and you know that I sympathize with him. Albert, your offer is as surprising as it is difficult." He cupped her chin and turned her face toward him.

"Don't tell me that you're actually surprised," he countered. "I'm not about to throw away someone in whom I've invested so much, and you know that my opinion and goals concerning you haven't changed." He pointedly touched a hand to the inside of her elbow, where the first viral dosage had been released. Yes, Claire agree, he had invested a lot, and he still wanted her for the same reasons. Claire leaned against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her.

"You've admitted what you want, but you don't know where to go from there," Wesker stated as he considered how best to approach her.

"This wasn't intentional," Claire sighed. "So I haven't exactly known how to deal with it. I'm not suppose to feel anything for you, and now that I know I do, it's complicated. You simplify it because you don't have moral debates to consider."

"I won't argue with the morality issue, but my decisions have required as much thought as yours have. Our situation is not without complexity on my end, and, Claire, I don't simply anything that's important. Tell me, is it morally appropriate to futilely fight for people who would destroy you at the expense of harming the person you care about?" Claire swallowed as one of Wesker's hands found its way into her hair.

"You're playing my feelings against my cause," Claire said. They remained silent for some time as Wesker stroked her hair and Claire buried her face against his chest in thought. Her resistance was grating.

"I'm going to make you an offer, dear heart, and hear out my proposal before you get defensive."

"Okay," she agreed.

"You can come with me if you choose, despite your doubts, but it is an all or nothing deal. There will be no way for you to remain ignorant of what I do if you're physically with me. I'll allow you to see my operations, listen to my business, and stay with me. I'd like you to participate when you come to terms with my goals, but there is no rush for you to directly involve yourself; I'd give you as much time as you'd need to adjust, but interference would not be tolerated on any level. All it takes is a single slip—a marginal, warning offense—and I'd be forced to dispose of you, dear heart—not necessarily by way of killing you, but it would be unpleasant, and you would be unable to return to my side with any privileges. The closer you get, the worse the results of betraying me for security reasons."

"I understand," Claire said. "You can't take me if I'll be an inside threat."

"I want you there, Claire," Wesker emphasized. "But I don't want to be disappointed, so think through this carefully before you give me an answer."

"Could I come even if I never participate?" Claire pressed. "If I can accept your work at a level where I won't try and stop you, would that be enough?"

"I would feel cheated of a beautiful accomplice, but you would be welcome to stay." Wesker knew that this was his greatest chance of getting her to agree, for she would probably never become an outright assistant. She'd be the unwitting ally, but he could work with that and mold her over time. The problem came if her sentiments led her to revolt against his plans and upset them.

He released her from his hold and noted that her eyes were not moist, as he might have suspected. Good. She was already busy considering her options. He could count on her giving him a thorough and honest response, and that was fortunate, because he had not lied. He would rather see her remain behind than have her interfere and require wasteful execution. And she was his whether at his side or waiting for their next encounter from across an ocean—of that he was certain, and it reinforced time as his ally. And if the time never came? Of course it would, for there would be a time when his plans enveloped and affected the entire world, and then it truly would be all or nothing. For now, so long as she didn't got too involved, he at least had ways to ensure that she would never be a threat without ending her existence.

"Great, it could be the last time we see each other for a while, and I'm going to spend it giving myself a headache," Claire stated, trying to cool her mental process. Wesker was removing a vile of red liquid from a refrigerator, and Claire immediately recognized the substance. Why was he keeping a sample of crimson? Wesker slid it into a carrying container and into his bag alongside of the laptop. "You don't make things easy, you know that?" Claire asked him.

"I know," Wesker smirked.

"You're impossible," Claire huffed and spun to go back to their room. She needed to relax and calmly think about what she was going to do, and now was as good as time as ever. Wesker had said that he was leaving tomorrow—talk about pressure. She walked up the stairs and sensed someone trailing behind her. She did not turn around as she grabbed the doorknob to the bedroom and wordlessly entered. She tossed her clothing to the floor and made for the bed, but warm hands were soon on her hips, preventing her from moving.

"Perhaps I can make up for the stress that I've caused," Wesker purred close to her ear. "I can think of a way to relieve some of the tension." Claire glared as he spun her and planted kisses along her throat. She sighed as if exasperated, and Wesker chuckled. This was the most inappropriate time to make love, but damn it, she _did_ need to release some stress. She could think about what she would do afterwards. For now, she was going to lose herself in this man and forget that there was a world out there to worry about. He was always the perfect escape. Maybe he was doing this intentionally to taint her decision-making process. He landed on top of her on the mattress and kissed her. Then again, maybe he was just a man enjoying the feel of being inside of her incase it was his last, convenient opportunity.

"Thanks," Claire said as she wrapped her legs around him to grant easier access.

"You look like you need it."


	23. Chapter 23: The Beginning of the End

So I have rewritten this chapter twice now. lol. But I wanted to get it right.

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Chapter 23: The Beginning of the End

Wesker sat on the plane, oblivious to the message displayed on his computer. His mind was too preoccupied with his recent conversation with Claire to read over the detailed report. He was on his way across the ocean to continue working on preparations for field tests, but as wonderful as it was to be so close to launching his victory, the plane felt empty and hollow. He considered the sense of detachment that currently plagued him. The words on the screen before him meant nothing. The flight attendant tried to offer him a drink and he shot her a threatening stare that sent her scurrying. Yes, the trip could have been much improved.

_Albert, I will come_.

The words continued to repeat in his mind as he finally shut the laptop. She had said those words, and he believed her. If she didn't come, he would go to her, for there was no escaping the eventual clash between their sides, and he would not forget the conclusion that they had reached. Their parting words replayed so clearly that if he closed his eyes, he felt like he was still in the bedroom...

"_Albert," Claire said. "We need to talk." He immediately stopped working and turned to face her. She sat on the bed, he in the chair, facing one another and wondering where this was going. "Can this work another way?" _

"_You'll need to elaborate, dear heart," he stated. _

"_I want to be with you like I have never wanted anything in my life, but I can't agree with what you're doing. Your power drive and ambitions will hurt too many people, and I can't be part of that. I wish you'd just let it go. Even if you win, I can't imagine what you'd gain—you'd be powerful, but…you'd never be happy, maybe not even satisfied. I can't see how…I could come with you and turn a blind eye, but you and I both know that I would be miserable in doing that. And…and…Damn it, Albert!" Claire let a few tears fall and fixed her eyesight on the floor. "I care about you. I don't want to see you injured or destroyed—I'd do anything to prevent it, maybe even more so than I'd do for Chris, but part of caring is not wanting to see you continue with this self-destructive, power lust." Her voice had taken on the strained quality of sorrow. "I know that you won't change your plans and that you think I'm totally wrong…but somehow, I wish that it was just us without these other considerations." _

"_Dear heart," Wesker soothed and sat on the bed beside her. Claire's hair was veiling her face, but he tucked it behind her ears. "That was a very roundabout way of telling me that you're not coming." There was a slight razor edge to his voice that worried Claire._

"_I need you to know that it's not because I don't want to come," she stressed. "If I could stay uninvolved, I'd be with you, but I can't trust myself to do that. If I broke your trust…no. I won't risk coming with you and destroying what we have." _

"_Are you saying that you're staying behind because you love me?" Wesker questioned. "That's rather twisted logic if you want to be with me more than anything." _

"_It's not illogical. I'd love you whatever decision I made," Claire stated. "I'm staying here because I can't change who I am and what I need to do any more easily than you can." _

"_Hmmm…"_

"_Does this mean that our communications will be cut?" Claire worriedly asked._

"_Not necessarily, although your decision is frustrating."_

"_I won't use any information that you give me against you," Claire promised. "Whatever happens between us will not cross into my job." She could not read his blank face, and Wesker could tell that she was dreading his response. Would he disown her now that she had rejected his best offer to date? Wesker stood and walked to his bag, making Claire's heart jump with anxiety. Was he just going to walk out on her without a word? Instead, he turned and handed her a black cell phone. _

"_Try not to lose this one," he coldly stated. Claire wiped her tears away with a smile and took it. _

"_You're not going to give up," she said with relief._

"_It appears that neither of us will. It's time that we parted, Claire."_

Wesker stuffed his laptop back into his bag and stared out the window. Her decision had not surprised him, and he wasn't even entirely disappointed or frustrated. Claire had been true to her feelings, and that was exactly why he could let her go without using the crimson sample that he had retained. He was keeping incase the need ever arose to completely remove Claire from the game without killing her. But it remained in his bag, untouched. He was not angry with her, only irked by the fact that she might never be his in every sense of the word. One day, when he was all-powerful and in control…he could worry about that when it happened.

He had not considered that she would leave because she loved him. He had thought that she'd depart because she despised the idea of helping him, but that had not been the case. Instead, she didn't want to jeopardize his trust or affection for her, which she was sure would be the cost of accompanying him and being so close to his work. The decision showed a depth of thought and warmth from Claire that rivaled the feelings that it would have taken to get her to Africa. In fact, it might express a stronger bond than surrendering her cause would. Wesker didn't like her decision, but he was impressed by it. Her resolve was, as always, tenacious and deeply rooted.

She would come to him again. When his plans were revealed to the world, she would be waiting to get involved. She had her work cut out for her if she planned to bring down his biohazards while diverting his destruction. Her goals would play into his hands if he was careful, and she would still be his. He wasn't going to lose, and a smirk creased his otherwise stern features.

Let Claire work for Terrasave and take down rival companies and research facilities that hassled him and his allies. She was actually doing him a favor, and then they would meet again. When everything that she fought for was lost, she'd be in his arms, where she wanted to be but wouldn't allow herself to stay.

"Dear heart, it won't be much longer." But it would have been better to have her sitting on the plane beside him right now.

************

Claire sat in a padded chair outside of a Terrasave office and waited. She had a lot of explaining to do to her superiors, but she had already formulated and submitted a plausible story. She couldn't help but slide open her new, black cell phone and run her fingers over the buttons. When would he call her? Would she need to wait for months to get a single message? She didn't know, but she was acutely aware of how alone she felt sitting in this office building and waiting for directives. Wesker had barely been gone a day and she already missed him. Going home to an empty apartment and sleeping alone just didn't feel right anymore. _But this is the only way_, she reminded herself, _and you will see him again_.

He had said that they'd stay in contact, and she believed him. This work with Terrasave was temporary—a purpose until the situation brewing behind closed doors exploded. She would go to him then. She'd save as many people as possible while finding him. She'd do it on her own, without any inside knowledge so as to retain his trust, and she'd combat the monsters that he would unleash. No matter how it ended, she would be there, as Matthews had requested, and stay by his side when the dust settled. If he won, she'd be unequivocally his, and that meant siding with him on most issues and probably working for him too. If he lost, she'd do everything to hold onto him. She had told him as much, and he had somberly accepted the unwritten contract between them. Their names were jotted in blood over the parting discussion, and it gave Claire a certainty for the future that she had lacked for some time.

The door to the office beside her opened and a man stepped out.

"Miss Claire Redfield?" he asked.

"That's me," she answered and stood to shake the man's hand.

"Welcome back. After reading your report, we'd like to keep you onboard, Miss Redfield. Of course, we have some questions to clear up, but other than that, you should be on the field again soon. Tell me, have you ever heard of Wilpharma?"

"No, sir." The man continued to talk as Claire followed him into the office. She smiled at the cell phone in her hand before pocketing it. This was the start of a new chapter in her life, and it was probably the deadliest and most meaningful of anything that she'd ever been involved in. Both she and Wesker were determined to win, but they were not lost to each other. As the sunlight streamed through the office windows and caught Claire's eyes, amber flared to life. No, they'd never lose their connection. Some understandings transcended all barriers. This time around, everything was on the table.


	24. Chapter 24: Note to the Audience

The next entry in the series, 'Heated Tenacity', is posted and complete.

Thanks for all the kind reviews.


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